


Pretty Little Psycho

by yaygayhooray



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Multi, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-19 07:27:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 20
Words: 102,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5958817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaygayhooray/pseuds/yaygayhooray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All I have ever wanted was freedom--the freedom to claim myself as my own. I have spent so many years with my eyes closed, I am not sure I can even recognize myself. But I want to try. What is it to be your own person? Not an object. Not a toy. Not a weapon. Not a tool. Just me. Just Fushimi Saruhiko. Is it too late for me? Perhaps. Probably. That won't keep me from trying though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Saru-chan

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very very short beginning chapter to the story, as it literally only just started forming in my brain last night...We shall see how quickly it develops...

_“You can leave me, when you can beat me.”_

Those are the first words I can remember. Seven years old, alone, afraid, but finally, _finally_ , found--given a chance to have a real home and a real family. Or at least that is what I believed when my brother introduced me to my new, would be family. Iwa they called him, him and his three adoptive sons. If I had known then what I was in for I would have ran. I would have begged, I would have gotten on my hands and knees and pleaded until my throat was raw for my brother to let me stay. But it was fate, _destiny,_ I suppose, who decided my brother was meant to be a piece of fucking shit; a man who would sell his brother to a family of lunatics for little more than a penny. It is unfortunate that I don’t remember what his face looks like, because if I did, I would hunt him down and beat the crap out of him with his own dick.

“Fushimi-kun, do you need me to repeat the question?”

“No Sir,” I snap, “of course not. The answer is 3255.1342.”

“Very good. Gojou-kun? Number 3?”

I glance over at my younger brother--the little mongrel--as he pouts at Iwa. “What if I don’t know it?”

“Well then,” Iwa smiles, “then you can do some extra homework later.”

“Stupid,” Gojou mutters. “It’s 57, alright? Why do I have to do all this crap? It’s not like I’m learning anything new.”

Iwa grins again, placating. “Yes, yes, but Nagare wants you to learn. And if he wants you to learn it, then you will.”

“Iwa-san!” Ugh, how wonderful. Yukari is home. I look away as my _beautiful_ older brother walks in, hair glittering, face glowing, lips tinged with lipstick as if he were some fashion model coming straight off the runway.

“Ah, Yukari! You’re back! How did things go?” Iwa asks.

Instead of answering, he walks across the room and straight to Gojou, ruffling the boy's hair with a smile. The smell wafting from him is instantaneous. The decadent smell of men’s cologne fills my nostrils and I choke. I struggle to hold in the hacking cough, but with little success. How he stands that shit I'll never know. Perhaps it is what's "in" now with men's fashion. I wouldn't know. I am not obsessed like Yukari. Hell, I haven’t even seen a mirror in nearly a decade. The only mirror I had in my basement hovel was absconded by Yukari to add to his “collection”.

“Gojou,” Yukari asks, “are you behaving today? Do you remember what Nagare told you last night?”

My little brother mumbles, “He said that if I don’t take my lessons I have to stay in the basement with Fushimi.”

_Excuse me?_  My eyes narrow and I glare at the floor. Better to stare at the floor than show Yukari how bloody fucking pissed that makes me. But why should I be surprised? _Nagare_. You’d never actually lock Gojou up in the basement with me. You adore him and spoil him rotten. You probably told him that just to piss me off.

“Saru-chan.” I know his hand is there before I feel it grasp my shoulder. It takes every bit of me not to flinch away; the feel of his hand is repulsive. I attempt to shake it off, but his grip is firm as always. “Have you been behaving yourself?”

“Go fuck yourself, Yukari.”

“Tsk tsk.” I can feel it, the soft skin of his cheek brushing against mine. Don’t touch me. _Stop touching me_.

“ _Behave_ , Saru-chan," he whispers against my skin. "That language is so unbecoming.” Pulling away, his lips brush my cheek without a second thought. Gods I hate him. I _hate_ him. A grin spreads across his face when he sees my expression. “Don’t worry, Nagare will be home soon. Then we can all have dinner together. You’ll like that, won’t you, Saru-chan?”

Biting my lip, I stare into his joyful gaze, recognizing that pure, unadulterated arrogance that is the essential part of his being. Arrogance and joy--the only two emotions he ever seems to feel, perverse or otherwise. It makes my blood run hot and my stomach churn, the bile crawling up my throat and suffocating me. And yet, despite my distaste, despite my hatred, despite everything Yukari has done to me, I push down my anger, just like I always do. It is the only way to survive this hell hole. You don’t go against Nagare, not with actions, not even with words. Not ever. I learned that once. The throbbing scars on my back are the never-ending reminder of that. And so I push my desperation down, swallow it, and finally bury it, deep down where it belongs.

“Yes, Yukari,” I respond. The words stick in my throat, but I force them out anyways, “I would like that.”


	2. Close Your Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy valentine’s day! 
> 
> I know. I am a terrible human being.

“Again.”

My arms shake as I push myself up. Heaving, I stay on my hands and knees waiting for the room to stop swaying. My chest is tight. I can’t breathe. I can’t believe I didn’t block it. Honestly? A punch to the throat? This is what suffocation must feel like. Breathe damn it! BREATHE.

“Again,” he repeats.

“J-just g-g-ive me--” I wheeze in and hack, trying to get my throat to work. “Just give me second,” I manage to whisper.

“Yukari, get him up.”

_ No _ . I manage to get one solitary foot flat on the floor before he reaches me. Without preamble, he bends down and firmly grasps my upper arms, yanking me up. Fuck it that hurts! I let out a grunt, stumbling. My legs won’t listen to me and I fall, Yukari catching me. His hands smooth over my back right before he tightens his grip, trapping me in.  “Mmph.” I bite back the moan of pain and try to focus.

Yukari glances across the room. “Nagare--”

“No, Yukari, you may not.”

“Aww, come on! You didn’t even let me ask!”

Nagare chuckles. I don’t need the visual to know his expression. He enjoys this utterly too much. “When he is done with training you may help him bathe and get him ready for dinner.”

I snap back into myself, struggling in Yukari’s hold. “No, Nagare,” the words feel raw but I make them come anyways, “I’m ready. I can do it.”

“Alright.” I can hear the smirk in his voice. The tone is infuriating.  _ Stop toying with me _ . 

“Sorry Yukari, it appears Saruhiko wants to do it on his own. Let him go.”

Yukari huffs, but let’s me go nevertheless. “Perhaps next time, Saru-chan.”

It takes every bit of willpower I have to keep myself standing. But I do it. I must. If it pleases Nagare, I will do it, no matter the sacrifice. I tried to run away once when I was a naive 13 year old. Unfounded arrogance is what it was. I thought I was going to bust out of here, to expose my family and their business to the world. I stole the laptop, hacked the accounts, and started downloading the files I needed to leak. I should have known Nagare was playing with me. He had known what I was doing from the moment I hacked the first account. It was the worst decision I ever made. 

Stripped naked, beaten, and then...and then the acid--a clear devil liquid dripped down my back, ripping me open, melting away my skin, making me scream and wretch, writhing about on the ground like a beast. I don’t remember much of the following two months. There was so much pain, I couldn’t even remember my own name. No hospitals, no doctors, just me and Iwa-san, him soothing my ragged back wounds with gels and creams as he shoved pills down my throat. It was two weeks before Nagare came to see me. Still bedridden and barely cognizant I had hardly recognized him. Yet despite the pain that had been fogging my brain, there was no way to mistake the way he leaned over me and smirked. His lips brushed my mine, barely perceptible. He pulled back just enough to whisper against my mouth,  _ “You can leave me, when you can beat me.”   _

I have been training in this studio ever since. I train here every day, but it never seems to be enough. If I can’t even beat Yukari, how am I supposed to beat Nagare? A predicament, I know; however, these are the cards I have been dealt. If I can’t beat him physically, or even mentally, then how? It seems impossible. An impossible problem I have been trying to solve for 6 years.

“Saru-chan, shall we begin?”

I glance at Yukari. He has barely broken a sweat. Sucking in a much needed gulp of air, I take the moment to straighten my back. My legs are still shaking, but I clench my fists and forcibly will my body to still--as much good as that does. He’s coming. That wretched smirk spreads across his face seconds before he leaps at me. Duck.

I slide to the side, blocking the initial blow with a palm. He twists, bringing up his opposite arm to get a punch at my face. Cross block. I use the momentum to bring up my knee into his stomach. He let’s out a gasping laugh, taking the blow so he can grab my wrist. Fuck! He goes down, using the weight of his body to take me with him. It causes me to fall, landing on top of him with a grunt. And that is when I recognize his strategy. He tries to take me off guard and wrap himself around me; but that is something I cannot allow. He’ll fuck me right here on the floor in front of Nagare if I let up. I slip out of his hold and roll away, getting to my feet. My whole body resists the movement, already sore and exhausted; however, I know exactly what I need to do. I run. Forget that bastard. He’ll just wear me down, toy with me, fight me until I pass out. Nagare on the other hand...he won’t.

The malicious sneer that crosses Nagare’s face makes my blood run cold. He loves it. He loves the determination on my face. He loves my desperation. He loves my absolute loathing. Most of all, he loves the thrill of the fight. His joy makes me scream. 

“Come for me!” he yells back in response.

I go for the jugular. I want to rip out that pale throat of his and watch the blood trickle down my hands. I want to see it splash onto the ground, that red pool glistening at my feet. He blocks me. I slip past him, swinging my arm back to try and catch him with a backhand. He grabs my hand mid strike. His physical strength is positively astounding. Laughing, he shoves me away. Spinning, I drop down, sweeping out my leg in an attempt to catch him off guard. Damn it! He doesn’t jump to the side, instead, he jumps directly upwards, so that when he lands he’s practically straddling my face. I make a lunge for his waist. The mistake flashes in my brain a moment too late. This is the reaction he was anticipating the whole time. Probably had predicted it from the moment I left the ground and ran towards him. Nagare smoothly falls down and rolls, using his foot to kick me directly in the stomach mid motion. 

“Argh!” The kick takes the air right out of me and I fall to the ground, spit flying out from between my lips. Shit shit shit shit shit.

I try to scramble away, but it’s too late. He crawls on top of my back and sits, throwing his full weight into it. The pain is instantaneous. “Stop it!” I scream at him. The pain is blinding. It’s an inferno crawling over my skin. All he does in response is laugh. The sound is like a death sentence.

“Say ‘please’, Saruhiko. Where are your manners?”

“Fuck you!”

He grinds his hips down and presses in with his palms. I shriek at him. “That doesn’t sound like a, ‘please’. When you are ready to be polite, I will let you up.”

“No!” I will not! He digs his fingers in and twists. My vision goes dark. I can’t help myself, the word peals out of my lips without permission, “Please!” 

“That’s better.” The weight lifts from my back; regardless, I cannot get myself to move anything but my face. I twist my neck and try to look up at him. He hasn’t moved from standing over me, one leg to either side. He cocks his head to the side so he can meet my gaze. A wild smile crosses his lips. You horrid, filthy beast. What joy could someone possibly derive from such torture? “You’re improving. Very good, Saruhiko.”

“Is that so?” I whisper back at him. Your sarcasm is positively inspiring.

“Yes,” he smiles down at me. “I think, perhaps, that you deserve a reward for all of your hard work.”

I freeze. Not those words. Anything is better than a reward from you.  _ Anything _ . “Would you like to join me this evening after you and Yukari are finished with your evening lessons? We have a lovely new girl who I’m sure would enjoy an audience for her debut.” 

I close my eyes and drop my head to the floor, exhausted. This again. Why do you do this, Nagare? What human would do this? It’s barbaric. There’s no rhyme or reason, there is only your chaos, your unadulterated, perverse enjoyment from watching other people’s suffering. It is what makes you an abhorrent being. Your treatment over the years is nothing more than a testament to that fact.

Nagare steps in front of me and crouches down. “Saruhiko, look at me.” I crane my neck upwards and open my eyes so I can meet his gaze. “When you submit--”

“No,” the word comes automatically. It seems to be my favorite word these days. Quite unintentionally. 

He ignores me with little more than a smirk. “When you submit,” he repeats, “you can move back to the main house.” That will never happen. And you’d be a bloody fucking troglodyte to believe me if I did “submit” to you. “Well, just think about it. You’re room is still open for you.”

I meet his gaze head on. “I’d rather be dead.”

“Come now. Don’t you love me?”

I snort. My lips twist into something ugly, a sneer that helps me get through the next sentence, “Of course I love you, Nagare; just like any dog loves his master.”

Chuckling, he stands and turns his back on me. “Yukari, dinner is at 6:30. Make sure he gets there on time.”

“Of course.”

I close my eyes and will myself away. It doesn’t work.

 

~

 

“Saru-chan, why don’t we remove those filthy clothes for you and get you cleaned up.”

I’ll let you do it. I am not going to make this easy for you. Hands slide down my arms, and grasp the bottom of my sweaty t-shirt. My stomach is churning, yet I don’t make the minimalist effort to try to stop him. It is no use fighting him. It never is. My eyes stay closed as he removes first my shirt and then my trousers. The air is warm. Nagare likes to keep me warm and ready, just as he does with his other prize trophies. Yukari has tried to convince me for years that I’m  _ special _ , that I’m  _ fortunate _ . Fortunate for being the kept toy? Give me a fucking break. “You’re beautiful, Saru-chan.” And you love to keep beautiful things all to yourself...

Warm palms slip over the jagged scars on my back. It doesn’t hurt, not these light touches. The way he worships the frayed and shredded skin on my back is beyond obscene. Yukari's mind is warped in ways I cannot comprehend; probably a result of growing up the right hand of Nagare, but that of course is just pure speculation on my part. I do not know much of Yukari's upbringing besides the fact that he was Nagare's chosen playmate since the time they were children. All I can say with certainty is that he is indisputably loyal to Nagare. 

The hands exploring my back are soon replaced, the smooth skin of his chest pressing against my ruined skin. Breath fans over my neck a moment before his tongue licks a line down my shoulder. I let my head fall back onto his shoulder, my eyes fluttering closed. Until we actually make it to the bed, there is no purpose in this. My mind is wide awake, the disgust all too real. My dick lays flaccid against my leg; however, I let him continue. Easier to let him get his “foreplay” in than try to engage him. I tried once in an attempt to get him off quickly, the plan of course, being to kick him out of my room as soon as possible. The result was a 30 minute long foreplay session, wherein nothing got done. I have never engaged him since. 

His hand wraps about my naked waist, the grip firm. “Put your hands on the bed and bend over. Don’t move.”

Slipping out of his hold, I do as he tells me, going to bed and grasping the sheets firmly in my hands to prepare for the inevitable. This is the worst part. Just have to breath through it and get it over with. You can do this. He returns a moment later, dropping the bottle of lube onto the sheets next to us as he steps behind me. He’s ready. The first two lubed fingers go in without preamble and begin to stretch me open. My teeth clench to the point I begin to wonder if they will break. I want to die. It’ll get better. It’ll be over soon. Let me die. Just let me d--I gasp.  _ Fuck _ . 

“There is it.”

My cock twitches for the first time this evening; but it is not enough. “ _ Come on _ ,” I hiss. “At least make me enjoy it.”

The man behind me erupts with joyous laughter and shoves in another finger and twists. I groan.  _ Yes, there _ . Make me forget. Make me forget who you are. Make me forget where I am. Make me forget myself. If you don’t, I won’t make it. I cannot survive without that nothingness, without that blackness. He stretches me and I move with it. Fuck me harder. You owe me at least that much.

“ _Now_ _ , _ ” I wheeze. He takes the hint. The man behind me slides in. And then without a single warning, he stops. My eyes peel open. The fog starts to clear. It’s Yukari. It is Yukari behind me and his dick is inside of me. “ _ No _ !”

A laugh ripples through him before he pulls back and purposefully shoves in hard enough to make me fall forward, face landing on the bed and hands sliding across the sheets. “Again,” I snap at him. Do it again and don’t stop this time you prick. The one word is enough. 

His movements are quick and hard but controlled, giving me the leverage I need to press my dick into the bed with each thrust. The roll of his hips is just the way I want it, just the way I  _ need  _ it, the pressure pushing against my insides, the warmth spreading and my head spinning. “D-don’t stop,” I pant. Keep going.  _ Yyyesss. _  His stamina is amazing, his hips never falter, not once. 

“ _ Harder _ .” The rushing in my ears is deafening. There is no longer Fushimi Saruhiko. There is nothing. I am free to take what I need. The pressure builds, the heat crawling over my skin and my heart racing. Release me.  _ Free me _ . I want to disappear from this hell. He rolls his hips mid-thrust and that’s all I need. I push my hips down  _ hard _ into the bed.  _ Fuck.  _ The spasm rocks my body and I writhe. “Shit!”

My body continues to shake while it empties itself into the sheets below me. After two more shuddering movements, I collapse and fall still, panting. There is no afterglow period--I’ve never understood what an afterglow period even is. That feeling books and movies describe is not real. It is nothing more than a farce to make people feel better about their sordid lives. In almost an instant my body begins to grow cold despite the cock still ramming into me from behind. And then reality starts to come back into place, fragmented as it may be. My high cools quicker than he can finish. 

“That’s it, Saru-chan, c-”

“Shut the fuck up and finish already!” I want you out! I’m done! “ _ Get out _ !” I shout up at him. 

The demand gets him riled. His thrusting falters and slows. In one final effort, he shoves in, burying himself as deep as he can, coating my insides with a vileness I cannot describe. The feeling is just as horrific as the first time. His  _ filth _ is inside of me, I want to scrap it out and cut out my insides. Bile bubbles up the back of my throat. It is the same every time. If it were possible for me to come hard enough to pass out, that would be a God send. I twist my head so I can look up at his face. My eyes are cold as I tell him, “Get the fuck out. I’m done.” 

He laughs, the sound bordering on a breathy moan. “Oh Saru-chan, you are so darling.” Despite the condescension, he actually listens and pulls out, throwing himself onto the bed next to me. My eyes stray away. I don’t want to look at you. In fact, I do not want to even be in your presence.

“I’m taking a shower,” I say out loud. I push myself up off the bed and head towards the bathroom. Halfway there I pause. “Yukari,” I sneer, “you are not invited.” Take the hint.

“Okay, okay,” he chuckles from the bed. “I’ll see you at dinner then.” At this moment I couldn’t give two shits about it. My obligatory sex for the evening is done. All I want now is a scalding shower. I want to burn away your essence from my body. The mere smell of it makes me sick.


	3. Prison Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized the other day that there was never any clarification about Nagare's or Yukari's age in this story...So just in case you have been wondering, the two of them are both a decade older than Saruhiko.
> 
> This post is not very long. The full chapter is quite extensive and incomplete. Therefore, I am dividing it. Sorry! Weekend. So. Busy T.T
> 
> So if it seems incomplete, that's because it is. I am hoping to finish it up and post it next weekend *.*

I pull on a pair of jeans and toss on a bright blue v-neck. Since I am going to be  _ treated  _ this evening, I need to be appropriately dressed. Yukari insists that this particular shade of blue brings out the color in my eyes. I can’t really agree or disagree with him--that whole mirror issue--Whatever, Nagare likes it, so I’ll wear it. I make my way out to the kitchen where Iwa-san is busy racing between my kitchen and dining room. 

When I was moved down to the basement, family dinners came with me. It is a fully outfitted apartment: a bedroom and connecting bathroom, a training studio, a study where Iwa-san holds his lessons, a small living room, a fully equipped kitchen and a dining room just big enough to hold the five of us. It isn’t horrible--for a prison. It is not the size of the space that bothers me, it is the lack of sunshine. There are no windows down here; even the few rooms I am allowed to visit are barren and cold. Of course, that is because most everything at this facility is underground. As pathetic as it is, I sometimes catch myself pausing movies just to stare: the grass, the trees, the feel of a breeze, the warmth of the sun touching my face. I bite my lip. It’s stupid to feel this way, and yet I cannot help the twinge in my chest when I see the outside glowing on that bright screen.

Iwa-san ignores me and I ignore him. The table is set and the food has been served. Everyone else is already sitting. Gojou has started eating, food dripping out of the corner of his mouth. The little shit has horrendous table manners. No one corrects him though. Gojou is the closest thing Nagare has to a son. He is legally Nagare’s heir and biologically his half brother. Their father was fucking everything with two legs right up till the day he died. Good riddance. 

There isn’t much talking as Iwa-san takes his seat and the two of us begin dishing out our food. Yukari leans over and whispers to Nagare who chuckles with a smile. I don't know, and frankly I don't care, what they're talking about. I take a bite of food and chew it slowly. What’s in store for me this time? Fighting? Beating? Torture? Rape? Maybe all four? Oh yay. 

“So Saruhiko, tell me, what have you been studying? It’s been two weeks since you’ve been able to check in with me.”

I sigh and put down my fork. I made it through...I check my plate...five bites. Yeah, five bites. “I’ve been reviewing advanced calculus and chemistry with Gojou. Iwa-san and I have moved onto Fourier Analysis and Continuum Applied Mathematics, as well as Statistical Physics.”  There you go. Now please let me eat.

I reach for my fork. “Is that it?” I let my hand drop. _Ugh_.

Nagare turns his attention to Iwa-san. “Iwa, I am fairly certain I told you last month that I want him studying more than just Mathematics and Physics. Am I mistaken?”

Iwa chuckles and scratches the back of his head--a nervous tick he’s had for as long a I’ve known him. “Well, I’m not particularly adept with the Social Sciences you know. Besides, Fushimi-kun doesn’t like them.”

Oh come on! Don’t drag me into this! I drop my head into my palm and rub my temples, groaning. “And?” Nagare replies. I glance up at him to check his expression. His face is frozen on a smile, that smile that tells you shit is about to explode. There are very few things that are worse than being on the receiving end of that look. 

Iwa-san laughs nervously. “Ha ha, well, you know…”

“No, I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”

“What I mean to say,” he responds coughing, “is that I am going out this week to pick up new material. We are going to be starting Victorian British Literature this week.”

Nagare’s lips slip into a sneer. “Sounds lovely. Let me know how that goes.”

Sounds like more work for me. Oh well, it’s not like I have anything better to do. Gojou swallows noisily from across the table. “Nagare, I’m bored. Calculus and chemistry are  _ boring _ . Can’t I study something else?”

My master grins, indulgent. “Mmm, I see. Did you know that Iwa-san speaks Romanian? Would that sufficiently amuse you?”

“ _ Really? _ ”

“Yes, all three of us do.”

Gojou glances over at me with that stupid little smirk on his face. Brat. “Fushimi doesn’t?”

I snort. “No, Gojou, I don’t. Learn it and speak all the trash you want to about me. Please do.” If it’ll get you to shut the hell up and not talk to me, then I am more than happy to encourage you. In fact, I will give you free reign of the study for a month if it’ll get you to learn it quickly.

“Alright alright,” Iwa-san laughs, “I’ll get some more books this week. We can start on Thursday, Gojou. Okay?”

“ _ Finally _ !” 

Alright now I am going to finish my dinner. I  _ will  _ finish ea--Without warning, a firm hand runs a straight path up my thigh, settling onto my cock. Are you  _ fucking kidding me _ ?! I grind my teeth and look over at the master of the table. “Nagare,” I start.

“Yes, Saruhiko?”

“Do I have permission to stab Yukari with my steak knife if he doesn’t remove his hand from my leg in the next two seconds?”

Nagare’s grin is wild and infectious. “Who am I to deny such a well formulated request?”

It takes me only a second to grab my knife and slam it blade down into the table next to Yukari’s other hand. If it wasn’t for his quick reflexes I would have gotten him. I grin to myself. Oh, I’ll get you one of these times. Yukari pulls his hand back into his lap and huffs, not looking at me. For the first time in a week, I laugh, an _actual_ laugh. It bursts out unexpectedly, but not unwelcome. It feels good. It legitimately feels good to laugh every once in awhile. I just wish there were more occasions for me to do so. It’ll happen. One day. The day will come. Just you wait and see, Nagare.  

 

~

 

The lights in the room are muted. A single bed sits in the center with chains dangling from it. Camera equipment is set up around the outside of the space. Concrete walls, tile floors, even the bed looks like a cesspit. “How do you like it?” Nagare’s fingers skim over my lower back. Clenching my teeth, I resist the urge to move away from him.

“It looks filthy,” I reply honestly.

Nagare chuckles. “It’s all staged, Saruhiko. You know that.”

“Yes, but it still looks filthy.”

He ignores my response. “Our seats are over there.”

Our cushioned chairs are right behind camera one. Mhmm. My stomach tightens. Call me crazy, but I am suspecting that this is not a reward I am going to like. We take our seats as everyone else begins to file in: first our four cameraman, an assistant, then Ishi, one of Nagare’s subordinates, and finally, dragging behind the rest with the help of Ishi’s apprentice, a young, voluptuous blond shackled and chained. Her hair is combed and shiny, her naked skin pink and fresh. Recently showered, I presume. Tear streaks are apparent on her face making her cheeks bright and rosy. Poor thing. 

No one says a word. Everyone knows what they’re doing. They change out the girls shackles with the ones connected to the bed. She stumbles, but climbs onto the mattress without a word. Her whole body is shaking and by the time the cameras are turned on, she has begun sobbing. “Please don’t do this. Please let me go.”

Nagare snaps his fingers without a single moment of hesitation. That is the ‘action’ cue. I glance over at Ishi. He has undressed and is in the process of outfitting his face with a masquerade mask. The mask is standard issue for these films and promos. None of Nagare’s men ever reveal their faces. It is part of the allure of the industry. The only face you ever see is the victim’s. Besides maintaining secrecy for Nagare's crew, it helps viewers focus on what’s important--the victim’s reaction. I do about two videos a year, all with my  _beloved_ master of course. He occasionally enjoys participating. According to him, he and his staff are  _ equals _ . Never would he have them do something he would not be willing to do himself. The first time I got to experience that "willingness" was when I was twelve. 

After years of helping me perfect my ability to give blow jobs, he decided it was time to finally take it to the next level. He took my virginity for my very first video. I screamed myself bloody hoarse. Nagare, unlike Yukari, does not like foreplay. In fact, he doesn’t like to prep me at all. He likes to rip me open and then sit back and watch me bleed. Fucking lunatic. 

Unsurprisingly, it only got worse from there. After only one more practice shoot, Nagare had Yukari join in. Double penetration, just what every twelve year old dreams of. It was that incident which led to the escape attempt that nearly ended my life. The humiliation and pain of it all was too much to bear. All I could think of was killing myself or escaping. I chose the latter. One fucking terrible decision if you ask me. I should have chosen death. My survival instincts are too ingrained now. I couldn't kill myself, even if I made the conscious decision to do so. What a fucking shame that is.


	4. Prison Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING! If torture or rape are triggers for you, I strongly advise against reading this segment, because that is literally the entirety of this chapter. 
> 
> This chapter still isn’t completely done, but this was the best stopping point. I have mentally rewritten the next section 3 or 4 times already, sooo it’s not done yet... Ha ha...(-.-;)

I glance back over at the bed. Ishi has already taken position. Kneeling on the bed, he uses one large hand to push the girl backwards. Kneeling over her he looks enormous. Ishi is not a small man; he has a solid 200 hundred pounds of muscle attached to that 6’2” frame of his. The boss doesn’t like unfit men to be the aggressors in his videos. If you don’t have a nice physique, you don’t get to top. It is one, amongst many, bits of information that Nagare likes to leave out when he brings in new bottoms.

His spiel is an elegant, refined fantasy that lures in lesser, easily tamed men and women alike. They come in thinking they are going to get the opportunity to act out their greatest fantasies: bondage, robes, gags, cuffs, whips, chains, and all the rest of that garbage associated with “porn”. Instead of porn, they get this. Few men (and absolutely no women) in our tight knit company actually top, mainly because you have to have very particular tastes to participate in something like this willingly. Legitimate torture, rape, and murder--those are the _true_ desires and obsessions one has to have in order to work for my master. These people are the true definition of sexual sadists. Frankly, it is absolutely terrifying at times. Not that I would ever dare say that aloud.

Ishi crawls forward. When he reaches out and grabs a wrist, she screams. Her fight or flight instincts have kicked in. The chains rattle as she struggles against him. That’s when the first fist falls. Blood explodes across her face as his fist connects. I twitch. I know what that feels like. I have to resist the urge to clench my fists when I see the sneer cross Ishi’s lips. While she is momentarily frozen from the hit, he grabs her by the thighs and shoves them open. A yelp escapes her as she comes back to herself. She’s a fighter then. That’s...unfortunate.

She pulls against the chains, desperately yelling up at him, “Get off of me!”

A fresh wave of tears stream down her cheeks. He lets go of one leg, so he can press his forefinger to her soft cheek, tracing the tears’ path. The finger moves from her face and points to his apprentice. Why the hell is he calling for him? Ishi wouldn’t actually let him take his place, would he? No, that’s not it. He has a mask on, but he’s not getting undressed. What is it then? A crew member hands him a white bundle, which he takes onto the set. Unwrapping the cloth, he holds it out to Ishi. Jesus fucking Christ. Daggers?  Really? Of course it’s daggers. What exactly was I expecting to happen today?

There is no time for her to react, no time for her to fight. Ishi knows what he is doing and does not hesitate a single moment. He takes the first blade and slams it into her shoulder, eliciting a loud, painful shriek. He grabs another and another: one to the shoulder, one to the forearm, one to the hip. The screams echo off the walls, bouncing around in my skull; they are never-ending, just like his assault. When he gets to the last blade, he keeps it to himself and starts using it on her skin. Metal scraping away layers of skin, cutting up the flesh slice by slice--he never stops, not even when he forces his way inside of her. It is gruesome, pure and simple. God, I feel sick. To stave off the vomit, I swallow in quick succession. Don’t throw up. Do _not_ get sick. Not in front of him. You know what will happen if you do. Please let this be over. I want to close my eyes. I want to scrub my brain with bleach. Yet I cannot. The moment I start to fidget in my seat is the moment that Nagare places a steadying hand on my leg. The pressure is enough to silence me.

An eternity seems to pass before Ishi finally finishes and pulls out of her. For good measure--I suppose--he slaps her one last time across the face before moving away. He does not bother to  look back at his handy work as he walks away naked, his skin dripping with her blood. The girl is nothing more than a red mess in the center of the bed. The screams stopped a while ago. I can’t even tell if she’s breathing. I hope she isn’t. I don’t know what type of person that makes me. Good or bad. But she’s better off dead. Just let her be dead.

When the cameras have been turned off, Nagare stands up. “Alight, someone get her out of here. Leave the sheets as they are. It’ll add some flare for the next take.”

Another take? How could she possibly be used _again_? She’s not conscious, if she’s even alive at all! I watch, disgusted, as one of the cameramen steps over to the bed and removes the multitude of blades sticking out of her body, tossing them to the floor nonchalantly. He grabs a key from his pocket and unlocks the chains before scooping up her limp body. Her face is an unrecognizable mess of blood and shredded flesh. I can’t help it, I look away.

“So Saruhiko, how did you like it?”

I refuse to look at him. “It was repulsive.”

“Yes, I suppose in some ways it is. And our people love it!” I can hear the excitement in his voice. This empire is what he is, what he was bred to be. There is not a moment of this that he does not love. And it is that same love that has destroyed any shred of humanity left inside of him. His heart is hollow and empty. I have yet to find any evidence suggesting otherwise. “We are gaining thousands of viewers with every passing year. It is amazing how the internet has changed things. We have more customers now than my father had in his entire lifetime. We’re selling fresh young bodies faster than we can supply them. And the demand for our videos has tripled just in the last year.”

“Yes, well, people are foul.”

“That they are.” You aren’t going to even try and deny it? “Can you guess what our biggest demand has been the past month?”

“No,” I huff. “Wait no, let me guess. The video that Taru likes to do? You know the one, where he ties them to the chair and pours scalding tea onto their chest?”

“No, but that is such a good one, isn’t it?” Of course. It is what every normal human being wants to be watching on their Friday night. “Actually, my dove, would you believe that our biggest demand right now is you? Saruhiko, your videos have had the most views the last two months--ever since we did that last video with you in my lap.”

 _What_ ?! My eyes snap upwards and look at him. That’s--that’s--I’m panting and I can’t seem to stop. I can’t breathe. What? _Why_ ? Nagare bends down and grabs my face with both hands, grinning at me. My body starts to shake violently and my lungs tighten. Dear God, I think I’m having a panic attack. “Relax,” he whispers. You are not helping! “ _Relax_.”

I gulp in quick succession, trying to calm my heart beat. Calm down. _Calm down_. My chest puffs up and I get in one last gulp of air. “That’s better,” Nagare says. “It’s okay, it’ll just be you and me. Just as usual.”

Not again. You cannot do this. It’s too soon. It has only been a couple months. I couldn’t stand for a week after the last one. I look up into his eyes and feel the floor drop beneath me. The elation in his eyes is palpable. One single look, and I know there is no amount of begging that will get me out of this. The pure desperation in my eyes is just an added bonus for him, just another stimulant. I wish I could control it--make him want it less, make him want _me_ less. Damn it! If I wasn’t so damn fucking weak. If I was stronger. If I had the will to fight....But what would it accomplish? How would fighting him make my circumstances any better? Bottom line? It wouldn’t.

His fingertips graze my cheek as he lets go and straightens up. “Go to the bed. I’ll join you in just a minute.” When he walks away, it takes every fiber of my willpower not to make a run for it. I wouldn’t make it far, and he would just use it as a reason to make the sex more violent. When I stand, the shaking in my legs in perceptible. He wants me over at the bed, but I cannot make myself move. I can’t do it. Not again. _Fuck you_ , Nagare, you are a deplorable, fucking piece of shit. I wish I had a gun. I would make you kneel at my feet and push the barrel of the gun so far down your throat I could blow your chest out. Your empty shell of a heart would be out in the open for me to see. I would rip it out of you and then feed it to Yukari, one small bite at a time. Now _that_ is something I would genuinely enjoy. I would sell my soul to be able to do that.  

Nagare comes back, pants undone, cock hard in a bold statement. His typical black mask is in its place. Unlike the others, the master always wears a simple cloth mask covering the lower, rather than upper part, of his face--he likes to be able to fully look at me while he does it. Flopping down onto the blood soaked bed, he snaps his fingers. _Already?_ Jesus!

I venture a quick glance to the left and sure enough, the camera is on. Everything happened so fast. Catching me off-guard was probably his plan all along. That way I’d have less time to be resistant. Turning my face back towards the bed, the only choice I have is to meet his gaze. Nagare’s eyes are so bright. If I didn’t know better, I’d say they were gleaming green. I know that’s not right, green and grey are different colors. And yet, under these lights he seems like some sort of ethereal creature, as if he were not of this world. The image makes it that much harder to move.

He leans back on one hand, displaying himself so the camera can get a good look. Damn exhibitionist. Do you have a single iota of modesty or humility in that brain of yours? I glance at his cock and bite the side of my lip. He’s not quite as thick as Yukari is, but he’s longer. Regrettably, that poses a problem that no amount of stretching can rectify. My body can only take so much. His dick literally does not fit inside my body. Not that my body’s limitations have ever made much of a difference.

Lifting his free hand, he beckons me with a single finger. It’s pure instinct--I take a step forward. His eyes flash at the movement. The look cannot be described as anything but demented rapture, a predatory stare that will consume me right up until the moment he comes. That one singular moment is the only time he ever lets go of his control. It is for that reason, and that reason alone, why I have to get him off _before_ he undresses me. The pair of jeans I am wearing is currently the only thing keeping him from destroying me. Just one article of clothing. I have to do whatever I can to keep them on.

I can do this. We have played this game before and I know I can win it. Narrowing my eyes, I walk the rest of the way over to him. I got this. I know exactly how to get you off; after all, you were the one who taught me.  His hand reaches out to grab at the waistband of my jeans. _No_. I smack his hand away. He cocks a brow, but doesn’t move. Have I gotten your attention? Good.

I drop to my knees in front of him. This is what you trained me to do, so just let me do it. I run my hands along his clothed thighs, tilting my head so I can stare up at him. You like looking down at me, don’t you? I know you do. My hands stray, along the outside of his thighs, up along his narrow hips. From an outsider’s perspective, one would think he is an average sized man. But underneath the clothes, there is not a single muscle on his body that isn’t honed. He may not be enormous like Ishi is; nevertheless, there is no denying his pure masculinity.

I lean forward enough to lick the tip, just one little touch to make sure I have his attention. I keep my eyes trained on his. You are coiled and ready to pounce; but, all you need to do is keep your eyes fixated on your prey. I am right here. There is no hesitation, I grasp the base of his cock and wrap my mouth around the tip. I take it in, one slow, solitary inch at a time. Swallowing, I make sure that the suction is hard. If there’s not enough pressure he’ll stop me. Once the tip grazes the back of my throat I stop. _Here it comes_ …

Without warning, he grasps me by the hair, firmly holding my head in position. I feel the vibration of his body, hear the growl trickling out of his throat. My eyes flutter closed. Just do it, Nagare. It’s what you want. As if in response to my unspoken thought, he pulls back, and thrusts. _Shit_ ! I gag, but there is no helping it. He thrusts again, _hard_. Argh! I dig my nails into his thighs and focus on relaxing my throat. It never works completely, but it helps. I focus on breathing. In and out through the nose. Ignore the pain. Just breathe through it.

Despite being on the verge of choking, I work past it, as I always do, swallowing repeatedly. _That’s it_ . _Let go_ . This is closest to zen I’ll ever be--the only time I focus hard enough to feel as if I am floating, as if I weren’t in my own body. If only I could float forever, drown out my reality and get lost in this endless abyss. But I am not so lucky. The thrusts slow perceptibly. That means he's close.  _So close_ . _Wait for it_.  His body falters in its rhythm. _Now!_ I pull against the hand holding my hair and take him down as far as I physically can without puking. I’ve got you.

FUCK! He rips my head backwards and off his dick, causing spittle to fly from my mouth. I gasp, gulping in air as if I haven’t taken a breath since he started. “What the hell?!” I scream at him.

He tilts back his head and laughs, a laugh filled with all the dark, lurid promises he will never forget, the promises he will always keep. When he is finished, he leans down and whispers next to my face. “Did you honestly believe I didn’t know what you were doing, Saruhiko? This video doesn’t end until I say it does. I am going to fuck you now, and you will obey. Am I understood?”

“How do you want me?” I hiss in response. I’m seething. I have lost this time. And now I am going to have to accept the ramifications of that failure.

“I want to see your face. I want you on your back, legs in the air. Do you need help getting undressed or should I do it for you?”

“Let go,” I snarl in response. “I will do it myself.”

Instead of simply letting me go like a decent person, he uses his hold on my hair to push me over, watching with intense satisfaction as I fall onto my hands. I haul myself up from the floor. Once I’m standing, I purposefully hack and spit on the tile by his feet. Fuck this. Unhooking the button on my jeans, I wiggle just enough that they fall to the floor. I am not taking my socks off--the tile is cold as fuck. And there is no way in hell I am taking the shirt off. I am not lying my bare back on those blood soaked sheets. With a swift kick, I get rid of the jeans so I can climb onto the bed.

When I get on, drying blood immediately squelches between my fingers. I try to ignore it. No matter my purposeful ignorance though, I cannot pretend it isn’t there when I lay down on my back. Cold, congealing blood soaks into my shirt. You can’t possibly mean to fuck me on these? This is revolting. I start sitting back up, but Nagare stops me with a hand on the shoulder. With nothing more than a slight movement of his arm, I fall backwards. Or, _or_ , you fully intend on mixing my blood with that poor girl’s and will most likely keep these very sheets in your room afterwards so you can roll on them like a bitch in heat. That seems like a very likely scenario at this point. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time...

He maneuvers my limbs so he can crawl between my legs. He has kept his pants on in order to get the most friction against my skin as possible. I close my eyes, my heart slows, my head goes blank. I do not offer any form of assent or defiance as he slides his hands under my thighs and hikes them up. God, Jesus, Buddha, Allah--if any of you exist--let me be perfectly clear. This man needs to kill me this time. The least you could do is allow him to cross that line: strangle me with chains, suffocate me with a pillow, stab me in the throat with one of those used daggers...Literally any form of murder is okay with me at this point. You owe me.

The pain is a shock to the system. No amount of lube will ever make my body compliant with this. He works his way in despite the resistance, despite the unlubricated pull of my skin attempting to deny him entrance. Each slow, laborious push and pull as he forces his way further in is like a dagger, cutting its way up my lower back. How is this pleasurable for you?! How is this not hurting you?! Damn it! My hands scramble on slippery blood as I dig my hands into the sheets. Heat sears across my skin and I struggle with myself to keep still. Don’t move. If you do, you’ll just rip even more.  _Please, God, wh_ _y don’t you ever reply? Why don’t you ever listen?! Just kill me and get it over with! Let me fucking die!_

Despite my body’s overwhelming resistance, despite the horrendous drag of skin against skin, he manages to overpower my body’s defenses as well as his own. He shoves himself in further, causing my skin to rip even more as his cock reaches in deeper than anything ever should. My vision goes white. I have no control over myself. I hear the words and it sounds like my voice; but I cannot recall saying anything at all. “ _Please stop_ ! _It hurts_!”

“Saruhiko, look at me. Saruhiko. _Look at me_ .” He stops moving. _Thank God._ My eyes peel open. I feel the wetness on my cheeks and I just don’t give a damn. Let him see my tears. “We aren’t finished yet. We had so many special requests for you. I have to give the fans what they want.” I don’t understand. Nothing you are saying is making any sense.

If eyes could smile, his do. The look is frightening. “Is it ready?” he calls out. What the hell are you talking about?

He starts pulling out. Each jerky movement backwards tears just a little more. I clench my teeth against the pain and try to keep myself quiet. Please just let this be over. When he is finally out, I collapse. My back, my ass, my legs--everything hurts. Closing my eyes, I stay where I am. Is that it? Are we done? I feel his hands sliding beneath me. “What are you doing?” I mumble. Are you going to carry me now? I guess so.

“You’ll see,” he whispers in response.

 _Wait._ _What?_ My eyes spring open. “What is going on?” I hiss at him. "You aren't taking me back to the basement?"

“I told you, we had many special requests for you.This one was by far the most popular request.”

“What request?”

“Right here.”

I follow his line of sight and find cuffs and shackles affixed to a wall. My heart stops beating. This means whips. _Fucking hell_. I have to get out of here. Despite the pounding ache in my lower body, despite the weakness in my limbs, when he sets me down I bolt. I have to. Even the humiliating drip of blood down my thighs does not stop me. Anywhere is better than here. _Anything_ is better than this. I don’t make it far. I only manage getting to the doorway before running smack dab into Ishi, who has returned dressed in a robe. He latches onto my arms to prevent me from punching him, and drags me back. I shout at him. I spit in his face. I kick his leg. I even bite him. Nothing phases him. I am nothing but a rag doll to him. My fighting probably isn’t much worse than a insect bite. “No! Let go! Fucking asshole!”

He drags me right back to Nagare, who is holding open the shackles for him. _No_ _!_ I struggle in his hold, throwing myself against him. Nothing I do matters. It is like throwing yourself against solid brick. Ishi presses me against the wall, flattening himself against my back to keep me still so they can close the cuffs and shackles around my wrists and ankles. I screech at them, “Let me out of these! Nagare!”

He ignores me. Fucking beast! “Ishi, would you mind cutting the shirt off? It is ruining the sight lines.”

Before I can blink, I am standing face first against the wall, bound in chains too tight to allow me to turn around. My marred back is bare for all to see. And without a doubt, that is exactly what he intended. “Nagare!” I scream. “Let me out!”

My pleas fall on deaf ears. ‘ _Click’. ‘Click’_ . I hear it, the sound of the whip's metal tip scraping across the floor. NO! STOP! “ _Nagare_!”

  
The first strike hits. My vision goes dark. I respond the only way I can; I screech, the sound falling from my lips as my body thrashes. A second strike cuts across my skin. This is what hell is. This is what hell feels like. My vision blurs, tears falling unbidden. Another strike hits. There is nothing, only hot agony crawling across my skin, almost as though someone has taken a molten iron rod and strapped it to my back. It is blinding. It consumes everything. Another hit. There is no thought, only the darkness closing in on me from every side. Blissful oblivion is just a moment away. _Thank the gods_.


	5. The Light Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaannddd, this chapter is not done. But I finished the first half, so yay?!
> 
> I will actually have free time this weekend (finally :D), so in theory, I should be able to finish the second half and post it in a few days\o/

_ “You can’t keep doing this, Nagare.” _

_ “Would you care to elaborate your thought process?” _

_ The voices drift through my brain. I don’t understand the words. I don’t understand the meaning. I do not understand anything. _

_ “The scars on his back never healed properly. Every time you do this, you’re risking the wounds getting infected." _

_ “Yes. It has happened before and you took care of it.” _

_ “Last time I had to cut off a layer of flesh to stop the spread of infection. Next time he not be so lucky. He could die.” _

_ Die? Who’s going to die? What are you talking about? _

_ “Saruhiko is stubborn. He is smart. He wouldn’t dare leave me.” _

_ There’s a pause followed by a long sigh. “If his wounds get infected again, he may not have that choice. But this is your decision. I will go along with whatever you want to do. If he gets sick again, I will do anything I can to keep him alive.” _

_ "Good. He is mine. He can die when I give him permission to.” _

_ Everything is fading. Everything is disappearing. All there is is darkness. _

~

My eyes peel open. Christ, where the hell am I? I glance around in the dim lighting--muted walls, a dresser, and a TV with a blu-ray player. Good, I am in my bedroom. Thank Jesus. The air feels cold, brushing over my exposed skin. Every limb and every muscle aches. Nevertheless, according to the sticky feeling on my back and in between my ass cheeks, Iwa-san was already in some time ago to cater to my medical needs. If he had not been, I have no doubt that I would be in agony right now. Granted, it is fairly apparent that the medications are starting to wear out; I can already feel the occasional spasm in my back

The vague sound of water makes me turn my head towards the bathroom. There is a sliver of light coming from the cracked bathroom door. How long have I been out? Hours? Days? I keep my eyes trained on the door as the water shuts off. Who is in my room? Only Nagare or Yukari would presume to take a shower in here. The last time Gojou tried to set up camp in my bedroom, I beat that twelve year old shit to a pulp. I paid the price in blood and tears for that one; but it did the trick. Gojou has not come into my room since then, despite how often he enjoys running his mouth.

_ Tch _ . I want to  _ move _ . Lying here helpless is quite the cause for anxiety. There is no guaranteeing what will happen next with my master and his lunatic of a sidekick wandering around. The bathroom door opens and Yukari walks out, a towel wrapped around his waist, and his wet hair sticking to his cheeks and neck. “Ah, Saru-chan, you’re awake!” 

_ Great _ ...Well, then again, I suppose I would rather it be Yukari than Nagare. It would not be unlike Nagare to fuck me in this state. Yukari at least knows how to show  _ some  _ modicum of restraint. Although his pleasure always comes first, he prefers to see me cumming rather than simply closing my eyes and taking it. Not that it matters overly so, both Nagare and Yukari are rapists. 

My back twinges and I tense. Fuck. “Aww, Saru-chan. Don’t worry. We have a new bandage to try that should last a few days. Apparently tattoo artists use them now. Who would have guessed.”

“And why would you do that?” I sigh. “Won’t it deprive you of the pleasure of attending to my wounds on a daily basis?” 

Yukari cocks his head to the side and grins. “Aw, will you miss me, Saru-chan?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

He stops, looking genuinely puzzled. “Did Iwa not tell you?”

“Yukari,” I deadpan, “this is the first time I’ve been fully cognizant since the shoot. Do you honestly think I have any idea of what has been going on?” Dumbass.

“Ah, I see. Yes, I did.” Of course you did. He steps over to me and squats down so he can meet my eyes. “There are some issues that we have to take care of. Iwa and Gojou are coming with us. We probably won’t be back for a week.”

“A week?!” Are you kidding me?! “How the hell am I supposed to take care of--” I wave my hand in the direction of my back, “--of this?”

He chuckles with a pleased grin. I do not find this very funny. “That’s the whole point of this new bandage, provided it works correctly. You shouldn’t have to worry about it for 3 days. At that point you peel it off and do what you can with it.” That is not reassuring at all. It is not by any means easy to reach back there. There is nothing different about this “special” bandage that will make it easier to remove. “However," he continues, "if you don’t feel you can handle it, we’ll give Ishi the access code to the basement and he can come check up on you.”

_ Hell no. _ That is a horrible plan. Yukari’s thin lips curl into a leer when he sees the repulsed expression on my face. “You know I won’t accept that,” I reply with a scowl. 

“Then you better suck it up. We expect you to be better by the time we get back.”

My eyes narrow and I resist the urge to spit in his face. Fucking bastard, that is a hell of a lot easier said than done. Iwa-san always takes care of me after these videos. I can’t exactly care for wounds that are located out of my arm’s reach. You and Nagare both know this. So why are you leaving me here? What is going on? This doesn’t seem right. “What’s really going on, Yukari?”

The response I get is a flash of teeth--a smile meant to reassure me. It is anything _but_ reassuring. “It is none of your concern," he replies. "Now settle down so I can take care of things.” 

That is not the response I want or need, but it is all I will get. I would be hard pressed to get Yukari to admit anything to me. His ability to blatantly ignore me is nothing short of extraordinary. I have stood not even a foot away from him and screamed in his face without getting the slightest blink in response. When he decides he’s done with me, he’s done. Yukari stands up and heads to the other side of the bed. I try craning my neck to see, but with little success. Laying on my stomach does not give me much leverage to look around. Plopping down on the bed next to me, Yukari takes the opportunity to run his hand down my ragged flesh.  _ Shit _ . The pain is sharp and immediate, causing me to suck in a gasp.

“Stop that,” I snap at him. “Just do what you need to and fuck off.”

“ _ Language, _ ” he clucks at me. I feel the first smear of gel and sigh. Ah, god that feels good. He rubs it into each individual wound, caressing every one, slow and meticulous. The feeling of his hands is soft and gentle as they glide over my skin. I hate him. I hate the brain attached to the hands touching me; regardless, the feeling is divine. The aches in my arms ease, the skin on my back tingles and goes numb.  _ Yyyesss. _

Once he is done treating the wounds with the gel, those soft hands of his stray, making their way across my ass cheeks.  _ Damn it _ . I know what you are going to do. Can’t you just leave me alone for 5 minutes? You do not need to treat that. I can reach that particular spot all by myself. His finger moves down my crack and starts pressing into me. He traces along my insides with the gel, soothing the torn flesh, yet not stopping there.  _ Don’t do this _ . I try holding it in when he curls his finger. But I cannot help it when he presses the spot again; I bite my lip and fight the moan escaping me. You are repulsive. Just leave me alone! 

“Yukari,” I hiss, “stop that. You know I can’t.”

His finger pauses as he lets out a long, drawn out sigh. The finger inside of me pulls out slowly. Too slowly for my liking. I feel the breath on my shoulder right before his lips brush the side of my neck. “Next time then, my darling Saru-chan.”

He moves away and I could not be more grateful. It takes another ten minutes for him to spread cream on my back and wrap it up. The bandage feels odd and tight, like Saran Wrap glued to my skin. I don’t know if I love it or hate it. It doesn’t feel bad, it just feels odd. “Alright,” Yukari states, “that’s it. Be a good boy while we’re gone, hmm?” He turns towards the door still dressed in a towel.

“Wait!” He stops and looks back at me grinning. That’s not why I called you back, asshole. “Could you at least put in a movie, or a season of something before you leave? I’m going to be bored out of my fucking skull here.”

A laugh bursts out of him, and his face lights up with amusement. “Of course, my darling.”

~

I make it four days before the wrap on my back starts to itch to the point of insanity. Sitting up in bed, I gently rub my back against the pillows leaning on the headboard. I grind my teeth against the searing pain it causes, but it itches so  _ damn bad _ . ARGH! Fucking hell! I need to get up. I slowly move my legs to the edge of the bed. The ache in my lower back flares, but I force myself through it and set my feet down on the floor. I can do this. I push myself up, the bandage pulling at my skin. Mmm, that feels  _ so wonderful _ …

I shuffle, stumbling; the weakness in my legs, the itchy inferno scoring my back, the soreness of my ass--literally every square inch of my body is fighting against me with each step I take. I can do it. I can do this. My chest heaves as I finally reach the bathroom and lean against the doorway. Sweat rolls down my cheeks and neck as I take a moment to collect myself. I made it. Score one for Saruhiko.

Sliding along the wall, I make it to the shower and turn on the warm spray. Hopefully--if luck will give me a few moments of peace and quiet--the water will help me get this  _ fucking  _ thing off my back. Fortunately for me, the shower is large enough that is has a nice stone bench along the back for me to sit down on. I get myself situated and turn towards the wall, leaning my face against the cool tile to allow the water access to my back.

“Fuck!” God damn mother fucking bitch! Don’t move, Saru. Don’t do it. You have to do this. It hurts, it  _ burns _ , but,  _ but _ , it feels so nice. The itchy feeling crawling over my skin abates, if only a little. The edges of the the bandage begin to curl slightly. If I keep at it, I might actually be able to get parts of this thing off.

I manage to tolerate a solid 5 minutes, during which time I scrub my hair and any body parts I can reach with soap. The cleaning motions help keep me focused. I watch the soap swirl down the drain, mixing in with blood and creating a foamy red and white spiral. The wounds clearly are not healed yet. Hell, for all I know the water pressure could be reopening any scabs that had started forming. Whether or not that is the case will remain a mystery until the others return. As it is, all the wounds--scabbed or otherwise--feel the same to me. 

  
When I turn off the shower, I allow myself a few moments to breath before standing. Wait a second, hold on. I keep still, standing in the shower while the remaining water funnels down the drain. There is a mild buzzing in my ear. What is that? I continue listening, but the sound does not go away. Sliding out of the shower, I make my way towards the doorway. I don’t bother reaching for a towel. As I push the door fully open, the sound becomes more apparent. It’s--it’s an alarm?  _ It’s an alarm. _ Someone unauthorized is in the compound. This cannot be good...


	6. The Light Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry this took so insanely long to get out! There was an unfortunate two solid weeks of illness that went through my house. It was really fun and awesome -.- I didn't even go to my family's Easter dinner since I was hacking up a lung. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy it!

It takes me three minutes to pull on a pair of socks, pajama bottoms, and a loose t-shirt--it is amazing how easy it is to ignore pain when you know shit is about to go down. The alarm has not ceased during the time I have been dressing, which means the safeguards meant to deter intruders are failing. This is more than just one dumbass sniffing around. If my analysis of the situation is correct, this is a full scale break in. Whether this is a situation that will benefit me, I cannot be sure. In either case, whatever is happening must be related to why Nagare and the whole family left. Aanndd they left me behind...that’s encouraging. Granted, this apartment is closed off by layers of metal and stone. There is no way to get in or out of here unless you have the access code; that or some heavy duty explosives. 

I shuffle over to the door and push it open. From my bedroom I can see the rest of the dim apartment. There is one light on in the entrance way and another one on in the kitchen. The sound of the alarm is an eerie symphony, chiming from two separate speakers on the ceiling. Over the hum of the alarm I hear a loud, resounding click. My eyes dart to the front door. _The front door is actually opening._ “Iwa-san?” I call out. Out of the three, he’s the one most likely to be sent back to retrieve me. And it’s not like anyone else could get in anyways.

The door swings open and I cannot help gaping. I mutter, “How in the hell did you get in here?”

Who is this guy again? I can’t think of the name. Takahashi? Daisuke? Ken? Shin? Who the hell knows and who the hell cares? He’s a cameraman, nothing more. “Oi! How did you get in here?”

He looks at me with dead eyes--no sympathy, no fear, no anything, just emptiness. The look is unsettling. There are very few people I have met who have emulated this level of apathy. ”Nagare gave me the access code,” he responds.

I lean against the door-frame with a scoff. “Oh, did he now?”

“Yes, he has a message for you.”

I chuckle, and then I laugh, a harsh sound that bursts from my lungs unexpectedly. He has a message for me. That can only mean one thing. “And what was this message that he wanted you to give me?”

His expression does not change, but I can see the twitch that runs through his arm. I look at it, and finally see the hand gun. “He said, ‘You have my permission.’ ”

 _‘You have my permission to die,’_ is what you mean. The words don’t make me feel anything at all. Nagare has told me repeatedly that he will never allow anyone else to have me. The implication of what that means has always been there, unspoken. If there is any possibility that I might be freed, if there is any possibility that I will fall into someone else’s hands, means the end of the line for me. I am his. No one else is allowed to have me. Not ever.

He lifts his arm and points the gun at me. So God, this is your answer, huh? This is how it will end for me? So be it. As my eyelids flutter closed, I cannot help the relieved smile that comes over me. _Finally_. “Okay,” I whisper. “I’m ready.”

I open my arms wide, keeping my eyes closed. Come for me, sweet bullet. Pierce my heart and shred the flesh of my chest. I am not afraid. The knowledge of my impending death is nothing compared the fear that chokes me each time I hear the sound of the whip gliding across the floor. It is nothing compared to the utter loathing and revulsion I feel each time Nagare comes for me. Compared to those feelings of shame and dread, the thought of death makes me feel, for once in my life, blessed. Simply ceasing to exist is the greatly awaited reprieve from this torment. I have longed for this for so many years I can longer remember. _Thank the gods_.

The gun cracks. This is it…

My arms drop, haltingly. What. The. Fuck. I open my eyes. The cameraman is on the floor, blood pooling beneath him. Kneeling in the doorway is a man, clothed head to toe in military gear, gun pointed directly at me. Another man, attired similarly, slips through the doorway, keeping his gun trained on me. “Identify yourself,” he barks.

This...is fucking ridiculous. What the hell is going on? I was thinking an attack from a rival organization, not a full scale SWAT coup. For once, I am genuinely surprised, too surprised to even react. How did they find out about this place? This organization has managed to fly under the radar for over sixty years. What could have possibly changed now? Are technologies that advanced now? I haven’t seen a computer or a phone in 6 years. I haven’t even had access to cable. I thought my blu-ray player was fairly new and sophisticated...but it can’t be if these dipshits found their way in here. Betrayal or technology. It has to be one or the other. And I am more prone to believe the latter. 

“Identify yourself! I will not ask again! Hands behind your head!”

“That is two requests,” I snort. “Which do you want? My name or my compliance?”

“Don’t be smart with me, boy! Put your hands behind your head.”

I heave a sigh and lift my hands, gently folding them behind my head. “Okay, now what?” I ask.

His facial muscles do not change--he is dead serious. If I make a wrong move, he will put a bullet through my skull. Although, isn’t that what I wanted just two minutes ago? Okay, yes, admittedly, I did, I still do, but on the other hand, I really want to know what is going on. I _never_ imagined this would, let alone _could_ happen. “Get on your knees and state your name.”

Huffing, I stiffly drop to one knee. I feel the vibration in my back and hiss. I grind my teeth against the pain and drop my other knee. “My name is Fushimi Saruhiko. What’s yours?”

“Don’t be a smartass.” He lets go of his gun with one hand and grasps a walkie talkie attached to a strap on his vest. “Lieutenant, we have one down and another with the name Fushimi. What do you want us to do with him?”

The radio crackles. “Hold. I’m on my way.”

“Roger that.” He grabs hold of the gun with both hands again. “Stay put.” He quickly glances over his shoulder and calls out, “Benzai, watch him. I am going to clear the rest.”

“Got it.”

I stay put while the nameless man clears each room in the apartment, including my own. Each minute that passes seems to last indefinitely. My arms are starting to sag. I am in pain. I am sore and tired. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, my body is reacting in kind. I honestly do not know how long I can stay this way before my body fails me.

The man calls out, “Clear!” as he comes back into the living room.

The muscles in my arms are starting to pulse. “Can I put my hands down now? I clearly don’t have any weapons on me. My arms are tired.”

“Shut up.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s not a response. Can I put my arms down or not?”

Annoyance flashes across his face. “I said, ‘shut up’.” He clenches his teeth and grasps the gun more firmly.

“If you don’t tell me ‘no’, I am going to do it anyways. So it’s up to you.” The shaking in my arms is starting to become perceptible. On an average day, I could hold my arms in this position for a good thirty minutes, but with my body as is it is, I am considerably weaker. Very inconvenient timing this is...My arms start to fall.

“Oi!” He points the gun at me.

“Andi! Stand down!” My arms fall down to my sides and no bullets puncture me. Is it safe to assume everything is all apropos then? I look over to the doorway where a woman is standing wearing trousers and a bullet proof vest. Her light brown hair is tied up into two small buns, a childish contradiction to her stern facial expression. “I am Lieutenant Awashima Seri. State your name.”

I tilt my head to the side and scoff. “I have already answered that question.”

“You will answer again, to me,” she states, unphased.

 _Okay_. “My name is Fushimi Saruhiko.”

“Where is the man they call Nagare? There are 2 cameramen, 3 crewman, 8 slaves, and you in this facility; and yet out of all those people, there has not been a single person who can tell me Nagare’s location. So now I am asking you. Tell me where he is.”

“I admire your determination, but I do not know.”

Her eyes narrow. “I do not believe you. Let me repeat myself. Tell me where he is.”

I cannot help glaring back at her, the persistent bitch. “Admirable. But I do _not_ know where he is.”

“I find that hard to believe.” She cocks her hip to the side and wraps her hand around her waist. Ohh sassy. “Do you know what response I have received from all of the crewman? Ask Fushimi.”

I clap a hand over my face and groan. Thanks everyone, thanks for throwing me under the bus you sacks of shit. I rub my eyes and drop my hand. I am beyond done with this. Sitting down on the floor I look up at, what’s her name again, Seri? “Listen, Seri, I do not know where any of the other facilities are. I do not know where his other houses are. I do not even know where he goes when he leaves this compound. I am not privy to that information. The two people who would know all of that information are currently with Nagare, so good luck with that.”

“Benzai,” she snaps, “cuff him. I want him at the station in the next hour. Andi, go help Akiyama get the rest of the prisoners into the vans. Have him call Zenjou. We need all of the interrogation rooms cleared. I want every available man on this. I will call the Captain. He’ll want to talk with this one personally.”

Andi dashes out the door and Benzai heads over towards me, dropping his gun and pushing it to the side so it hangs on him by the strap. Reaching into a pack on his vest, he pulls out a pair of cuffs. I do _not_ want those handcuffs on me. The only time I get handcuffed is right before I am about to be whipped or beaten. I do not know you. I do not trust you. What you will do to me once those handcuffs go on is anybody’s guess. I force myself up onto my hands and knees so I can stand up. The attempt fails as I wobble and fall against the door frame. “ _Shit_ ,” I snarl. The blood rushes in my ears and my vision blurs. As if hearing it’s name called, the throbbing in my back roars back to life. I heave in a breath, whilst squeezing my eyes closed. The man coming towards me stops.

“Lieutenant? He doesn’t look too good.”

My eyes crack open and I snap at him, “Yes, and who’s fault is that? You really have chosen a piss poor time to break in here.”

He cocks an eyebrow, bemused. “When would you suggest be a better time?”

I sigh. “When I’m not about to pass out? You interrupted my rest. And now, you’ve broken in for a handful of underlings who won’t be able to give you any useful or relevant information. You do realize that besides the man on the floor there, there probably isn’t a single person here who will know how to get in contact with Nagare? And let me guess--the 8 slaves you found are all too weak and damaged to be easily transported?”

Both of them stop and consider my words. The Lieutenant purses her lips in thought. “So what exactly are you saying?”

The question causes me to sigh again. Do I have to spell it out for you? Hot sweat rolls down my back and face. My hands start slipping despite how firmly I am gripping the door. A thick fog is starting to descend over me and I shake my head in an effort to clear it. Come on Saruhiko, _think_. “What I am saying is that Nagare played you. He left a few days ago and vacated all of the important players. The people that you’ve ‘caught’ are merely the proverbial red herring.”

“If that’s the case, why are you here?”

“Because,” I reply as calmly as I can, “I am too injured to be transported currently. That thug down there,” I nod towards the dead cameraman who is still sprawled out across the blood soaked floor, “was meant to be my executioner.”

“Very intriguing that is,” she murmurs. “The Captain will be very interested to hear what else you have to say. Benzai, cuff him.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

 _No!_ I squeeze the doorway so hard my knuckles turn white. I shake my head again, trying to focus. “ _Don’t_ come any closer,” I huff. The words come out breathy, rather than the firm command I was going for. This is not good.

“You don’t have a choice,” he snorts. “You can turn around and put your hands behind your back, or I can force you. Fushimi Saruhiko, you are under arrest for conspiracy to aid in the transport, selling, torture, and murder of the following people--”

“I will fight you if you try to put those on me. I will walk out of here without complaint, but if you cuff me, I will not be compliant.”

“Fushimi,” Seri cuts in, “I am sure you know that this is protocol. You aren’t walking out of here without the cuffs on.”

Benzai steps closer as a long list of names tumbles from his mouth. I do not hear a single name--his words are all white noise. All I can do is regard the open cuffs dangling from his hands. _Fight_ _Saruhiko_. _Fight_. The image of his face starts to blur. My fingers slip over the panels of the door, the sweat soaking the white, wooden frame. He’s almost here. I will not let you do this. I won’t. The room starts to spin and I lose my grip. I fall. The world around me whirls out of control. I’m falling down, down deep into the abyss. And then there is nothing but silence.

 

~

 

The first thing I hear is the beeping of monitors. My eyes slowly peel open, only to be greeted by flickering fluorescent lighting. Ugh, what an obnoxious sight. Can’t they fix that somehow? I am lying on my stomach, a mound of pillows crushed beneath my cheek. Everything smells clean and overtly sterile; a mild pungent odor like that of cleaning solution or bleach. It is not the most pleasant smells admittedly, but I suppose it is preferable to the smell of my own blood. _Wait a minute_ . My back--it doesn’t feel like it’s been doused in oil and lit on fire. Am I in a _hospital_?  How in the hell did I get here? I look down at the wrist closest to my face and see an IV drip stuck deep into my arm. And right above that IV is a glistening, silver cuff attaching my wrist to the bed frame. God fucking damn it. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. _Shit_.

“Awake finally, I see. You’ve made us wait quite a long time.”

I do not flinch and instead take a deep breath. Nagare and Yukari have spent over six years showing up in my bedroom unannounced, whether or not I am asleep. It takes a lot more than this to intimidate me. A few feet away from my bed there is a lone figure sitting down in a thinly cushioned chair. The man is resting his elbows on his knees, clasping his long fingers together in what could only be described as a thought provoking pose. He’s tall and well dressed, with a sweeping hair style that seems to emphasize the condescending smirk stuck on his face. The glasses he is wearing only makes it worse. He looks like a pompous, ostentatious prick.

“My name is Munakata Reisi. I am the Captain of the SVU unit in this precinct. I would like to ask you a few questions.”

“You can ask,” I respond, ”but it doesn’t mean you’ll get an answer.”

A laughing ‘hmph’ is his response. “Awashima wasn’t exaggerating. You have quite the mouth on you.” My eyes narrow. Listen here you cock-sucking shit-- “But no matter. What can you tell me about Nagare?”

“You’ll have to be more specific than that.”

“Oh, of course,” he smiles. “What is Nagare’s real name?”

“I don’t know.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Really now?”

“Really,” I deadpan. “That is only name he uses.”

“Okay, how about Mishakuji Yukari or Tenkei Iwafune?”

“They have last names?” I snort. Hmm, that is pretty fascinating. “No, I do not know.”

“Where is Nagare now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you have access to Nagare’s website data or uploads?”

“No.”

“In this state alone, there are at least three facilities and two houses that we know of. Do you know where any of these houses or facilities are?”

“No.”

He tilts back his head and laughs. “Despite your cohorts’ insistence, you do not seem to know as much as they are suggesting.”

I crack a sneer at that. “I can tell you all about Nagare’s dick--what is looks like, what it tastes like. I can tell you how he likes to fuck. I can tell you what his favorite position is and what his favorite torture device is.”

The comments cause him to pause and consider me. “Fushimi-kun,” he starts.

“ _Don’t_ ” I hiss, “you _dare_ fucking call me that.” We are not friends. You do not know me and you do not have permission to call me as such. “I do _not_ appreciate the familiarity. You are holding me prisoner here for absolutely no reason and asking me futile questions which, if you actually knew pertinent information about Nagare, you would know better than to ask me. You can call me Fushimi or nothing at all.”

I narrow my eyes to emphasize the point. I hope the message is getting across to you now. You people have done nothing to improve my situation, and in fact have probably found the one way to make it worse, which, amazingly, I did not know was even possible. “Fushimi,” he says, “who are you exactly to Nagare? There was never much clarification as to your standing amongst the circle when we questioned the others.”

I meet his gaze from across the room. The look on his face is unfettered, plenary fascination, almost as if I were some organism he was observing under a microscope. “Listen, this is my life we are talking about here. I am not here for your amusement. Nagare is my master. I am his _pet_ , his personal _sex slave_ . He _bought_ me.”

For once, there is a flash of something other than amusement on his face, although I cannot place the emotion. “So the wounds on your back--”

“You actually thought I enjoyed being whipped?” The words stick in my throat and bile bubbles in the back of my throat. The nasty way my lips curl, sneering, is unintentional yet inevitable. The gesture makes my face look foul, and makes me feel ugly and crass both inside and out. “I was whipped for his amusement. I was raped for his pleasure. The mess of ruined skin on my back was punishment from when I tried to run away six years ago.”

Leaning forward, he rests his lips against his fingers, contemplating my words. “You weren’t in any of the videos or databases we hacked. I would have thought we’d have come across you at some point.”

“There is a whole site dedicated to myself and other slaves that viewers like enough to be kept for later use. There is a full six years worth of videos under the name Ko-chan. Go ahead. _Enjoy_!” As long as you take these fucking cuffs off of me, I give you my full-hearted blessing to go ahead and watch every single video of me that is available for viewing.

“I think I will.” Without any more preamble, he pushes back his chair and stands, heading towards the door.

“Wait! Uncuff me before you leave! You can’t just leave me here!”

He glances over his shoulder, the look on his face solemn and tense. “Actually, I can.” He is out the door without another word.

Uh, what the hell just happened here?


	7. Perpetual Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I were more artistically inclined--I can draw really beautiful anime eyes and hair...and literally nothing else. I want the opening scene in art form so bad that it kills me. Someone please make it happen...
> 
> Anyways, this chapter was incredibly clear in my head and demanded to be written immediately. So, there you have it. I regret nothing.

_ “Saru. Darling. It’s time to wake up.” Mama? I open my eyes and roll over. “Mama?” There is no response. I crawl out of bed, pulling up the too loose pajama pants that are falling down my legs. I don’t mind, they were Nii-chan’s once. All of my clothes were once his, holes and all. I walk out into the family room, kicking aside wrappers and dirty clothes as I go. My eyes are so itchy. I rub them a few times and look around. “Mama? Nii-chan?” _

_ The T.V. is on. On the other side of the room, sprawled across the couch in his usual sweatpants and stained t-shirt is my brother. “Nii-chan? Where’s Mama?” _

_ His head rolls along the back of the couch so he can look at me. You’re eyes are all droopy and small again. I don’t like it when you’re this way. I don’t like you at all. “Mom’s dead. She overdosed.” He breathes in once, deep and heavy. “Her pimp called me to let me know he got rid of the body.” _

_ What? I don’t understand. I tilt my head to the side and look at him.“What do you mean? When is Mama coming home?” _

_ He slowly blinks. “She’s dead, Hiko. She’s not coming home.” _

_ I bite my lower lip. Stop being a jerk. “You’re not funny, Nii-chan. Stop lying. When is Mama coming home?” _

_ He huffs and looks away from me. “Whatever, dude. She’s dead. That ho ain’t coming back.” _

_ “Stop lying!” The doorbell rings. See? That’s probably her now! She probably just forgot her key. I race through the apartment jumping over the piles of trash scattered across the entrance-way. _

_ “Oi!” Nii-chan calls out. “Where do you think you’re going? You aren’t going anywhere today. Since Mom’s dead now, I’ll need you to clean up this shit while I go to work.” _

_ My hand halts just shy of grabbing the doorknob. Stop  _ lying _. Mama isn’t dead. She is coming home. She told me that she would. She promised me. She  _ promised _. The doorbell rings again. I grab it and twist, opening the door just enough to see who is standing on the other side. I stop breathing. It’s not Mama. _

_ “Saru!” He smiles at me. “Can you come over and play? My mom said it’s okay. She made sandwiches and cookies. They’re oatmeal raisin! I asked her to make them special cause I know you like them!” _

_ “Hiko!” Nii-chan snaps from the other room. “What did I just say?!” _

_ I tighten my grip on the doorknob. I don’t know why, but my chest feels tight. Too tight. It feels like it’s going to kill me. Am I going to die too? “Saru?” I look at him and the confused expression on his face. “What’s wrong?” _

_ My heads drops down and I clench my teeth. Tears are rolling down my cheeks and I don’t know why. I don’t understand this at all. I don’t understand why you won’t come home, Mama. I don’t understand why Nii-chan is like this. I don’t know why Nii-chan doesn’t love me anymore. My whole body shakes as I cry. _

_ “Saru?” _

_ “I-I’m sorry,” I choke. “I’m sorry, Misa-chan. I c-can’t play today.” I close the door on him, falling to the floor as I sob. _   
  
  


Hmm? Where am I? Oh yes--hospital. Got it. Was I dreaming? My dreams never transform into anything substantial. No matter how many times I have dreamt over the years, every detail in them, from the locations down to the people, remains in a perpetual loop of meaningless voices and fuzzy bodies. I doubt there will ever be a time when I do remember, as my dreams are no more substantial than my actual childhood memories--black shadows and loud cries, a swirling, jumbled mess of vague impressions and emotions. I can recall feeling disparaged and heartbroken, sullen and resentful; but I also remember, for some brief flickers of time, there were other feelings, happiness and comfort, warmth and affection. Not that any of that matters now. The one and only clear childhood memory that I have is the day my brother handed me over to Iwa-san. I was so ecstatic to finally be someone that  _ mattered _ , I did not even glance back at my brother’s face when Iwa-san and I walked away. When he brought me to the house and took me to Nagare, I practically ran into my master’s arms, because when my brother had said the word ‘family’ to me, I had truly believed it with every fiber of my being.  _ Family _ . Oh the beautiful irony of it all.

“Fushimi Saruhiko?”

I look up at the nurse standing next to my bed with a push cart full of pills and syringes. Geez, again? Wasn’t someone in here just an hour or two ago? His hair is buzzed military style, with a mask covering the lower half of his face. He is looking over a chart, which he sets down so he can pull on a pair of rubber gloves. “Okay, let’s see here. Ah, here we are.”

He grabs a shot, which he swiftly attaches to my IV without a moment’s pause and pushes the fluid in. It burns as it drips into my arm. “You’re going to feel a bit groggy and dizzy at first, but don’t worry,” he says, stepping back and taking the cart with him, “that’s to be expected.”

He’s right. Everything is getting so hazy. My eyes are losing their focus. My arms, they’re so heavy. But the burning, it isn’t stopping. My arm, it’s tingling, the sensation quickly climbing its way inch by inch towards my chest. Urgh. Shit it’s hard to think. What is happening? My breathing stutters. “Y-you didn’t say it’d burn,” I say. “Is that normal?”

My heartbeat picks up, beating sporadically, faster and faster. This can’t be right. He must have given me the wrong meds. Crap.  _ Think _ . Fuck, why is this so hard? “Hey, I think you gave me the wrong meds,” I huff each word at him, trying to slow down my heartbeat. It doesn’t work. My throat is starting to get itchy and tighten, making it harder for me to breath. “Shit! Did you hear me?!” The yell comes out as a whisper as my chest seizes.  _ Can’t breathe.  _

My eyes swivel to the nurse’s face as I gasp, trying to get some form of air,  _ any _ air, into my lungs. I look at his eyes. He is staring right at me, his eyes luminous and creased at the corners.  _ He’s smiling _ .  _ Oh dear Christ. _

“Nagare sends his regards. He’d have come himself, but you know, cops.”

NO! He leaves the room with the cart as I continue to gasp for air.  _ FUCK! _ My chest muscles aren’t working.  _ Please breathe! _ The cuff around my wrist rattles against the bed frame as I scramble to move. My limbs are slow to respond. Nothing is working.  _ Please!  _ On the wall there is a large red button. Surely, that must mean ‘emergency’. With every bit of strength I have, I throw myself at it, my scream absorbed by my constricted lungs. The button flashes as I fall, my body no longer responding. Someone please help me. I don’t want to die like this…

The cuff cuts into my flesh as my body tumbles. I dangle from the bed, blood spilling down my arm from where the cuff is keeping me latched to the frame. The pain means nothing to me. I flail, struggling. Everything is spinning. I wheeze.  _ Nagare _ ,  _ please don’t let me die like this. I’ll come back to you _ .  _ I’m yours. I promise _ .

“Fushimi-kun!”

A solid pair of arms catch me, and within moments the cuff around my wrist disappears. I look up wildly at a pair of flashing violet eyes. I scramble with the lapels of his jacket, my hand muscles just as spasmodic and unreliable as my lungs. “What is it?”

“Captain! Please move out of the way, we need to intubate him immediately.”

“Fushimi-kun,” he says. “What happened?”

I gasp again. “N-” my chest will not comply. I look him in the eyes, willing him to understand as doctors begin lifting me from his arms and onto the bed. Wait! I latch onto him, causing him to fall forward onto my chest. “P-po-i-so-n.” I don’t know if the word actually made it out of me, but dear gods I hope so. The Captain disappears and is immediately replaced by a doctor who rips open my jaw and begins shoving a tube down my throat.

I want to gag, but nothing is working or responding as it should. Stop it! STOP IT! 

“Fushimi-san! Listen to me!” I look at the doctor hovering over me. “You’re having a panic attack. I know this is scary. We are doing everything we can. Try to calm down.”

“Hey! Has someone returned with the solution yet?!”

“Yes, mam!”

“Then get your ass moving! It needed to be in him 5 minutes ago!”

“Fushimi-san, look at me. It’s okay. The tube’s in now. I’m going to help you breath.” Sure enough, within a moment a pump of air fills my lungs. Jesus fucking Christ. I am breathing. There is air entering my lungs. “You’re probably going to drop in and out of consciousness for the next few hours while everything begins working. But do not worry. We won’t let anything happen to you. You’re not out of the woods yet, but we have passed the first hurdle.” Those are the last words I hear before the white haze consumes me.

~

When I wake up next, the hand held pump has been replaced with a machine, although the tube in my throat hasn’t been removed. It is incredibly uncomfortable, but the alternative is even more so. I am sitting up against several pillows, and fortunately, it seems my limbs are starting to work again. I look next to the bed to see who is accompanying me. They undoubtedly must have someone monitoring me at this point. I cannot imagine the police would risk leaving me alone again. Sure enough, a large man in trousers and a button-up shirt is sitting in the hospital chair near my bed, quietly murmuring into his phone. The sleeve of his left arm is tied below the elbow, although the absence of his limb doesn’t seem to be hindering his movements. I do not mind. I have seen men manage with less. I scan his face, regarding the large scar running across the bridge of his nose and spreading onto his cheeks. That must of hurt--I can certainly sympathize with that. 

“Awake?” The man ends the call and sits up straight. “I’m Zenjou. I’ll be your bodyguard for the next few days. The doctors say you won’t be able to come off the ventilator completely for at least another day. They won’t allow us to move you until then, so you’re stuck with me.” He drops the stern expression for just a moment, sparing me a small smile. Heh. I suppose I can handle that. “I brought a dry erase board with me so we can communicate better.” 

Leaning over, he reaches into a bag next to the chair and pulls out a small board with a black marker attached. The cap of the marker has an eraser built in for convenience sake. He stands up and comes over to hand me the board before going back to retrieve his chair. He brings it closer to the bed, giving himself better access to see the board as I write. It is only as he sits down next to me that I finally see the two guns holstered at his waist and chest. The sight of the guns alleviates my anxieties, even if minimally. A gun will not protect me from being poisoned again, but having a gun is better than having nothing at all.

“Okay, Fushimi-kun,” he pauses, “do you mind if I call you that? I heard you gave the Captain an earful the other day.” Although his facial muscles are set into a rigid frown, there is a vague hint of laughter in his eyes.

Yeah, I did give your Captain a hard time I guess. But he is a jackass. My hands are still shaky, my muscles still not fully in my control, but I am able to remove the cap from the marker and write on the board, ‘ _ Yes, you may. Your Captain was accusing me of aiding Nagare _ .’

“I can understand why that would make you upset. You said he was your master. Do you mind if I ask you for how long? Provided that you know, of course. If we were to run your face through our missing children database, would we be able to find you?”

You are far more eloquent and far less accusatory than your associates. I appreciate that. Analyzing a situation, asking questions first and doing the research, that is how an investigation should be done. When you approach a situation by running in with guns drawn, waving them around like a bunch of dumb-asses, you are merely assuming the worst of every person you see without actually getting any clarity or specifics first. That mentality is an open invitation for misunderstandings and accidental deaths.

I consider my answer. What exactly can I tell you? What  _ should _ I tell you? I have already let information slip in my anger that I probably would have been better off keeping to myself. Nagare will have me one way or another, of that I have absolutely no doubt. You can have guards trailing me all day every day, but if there is no appropriate opening to steal me back, you have condemned me to death. This poisoning attempt will not be last, for this situation goes far beyond a mere breach of intelligence. I can provide you with some information, that is true, but Nagare is a narcissist; the mere idea of someone else telling me what to do, let alone someone else fucking me or even touching me without his explicit directive is akin to sacrilege. We had one new hire two years back who grabbed my dick while Nagare was busy discussing details with the film crew. The look on Nagare’s face when he turned around and saw this was like looking into hell fire. No one would tell me what happened to him and I did not push it.

I look down at the board. The questions aren’t too probing for now, so it shouldn’t be an issue.  _ ‘12 years, I think, although I am not 100% sure.’  _ I quickly wipe the board clean and continue.  _ ‘No, you won’t. My brother sold me. No one will be looking.’ _

The look on his face reminds me very much of the Captain’s before he abruptly left the previous day. Is the look one of indignation, perhaps? “How does Nagare get his victims? How did he get you?”

That is a slightly more complicated question to answer.  _ ‘Trickery. My brother needed money for drugs.’  _

“That is a very vague response.” He doesn’t push it, but it is all too apparent that he was hoping for a different response. “Okay, let’s try something else. The apartment you were found in, why were you in there and not with the other slaves?”

_ ‘I am Nagare’s personal slave. He raised me.’  _ I wipe off the board and think through the next few words.  _ ‘I tried to betray him once. So now I live there instead of the house.’ _

“Hmm, yes, the Captain briefly mentioned that in his report...” Zenjou pauses, and then slowly asks, “When you say ‘betray’, what exactly do you mean?”

Tch, I do not see how that is relevant to your investigation; nevertheless, I will answer your question.  _ ‘I tried to escape by exposing him.’ _

“Expose how?”

_ ‘I hacked his system data.’ _

He is taken aback by that. “You had access to a computer?” 

_ ‘Yes, I had a Dell GX240.’ _

He sits back in his chair with an oddly flabbergasted look on his face. “Please correct me if I am mistaken; but you are saying that as a preteen, you used a nearly decade old computer to hack into a system that our grown tech team is having issues with.”

_ ‘Your words, not mine.’ _

The older man laughs at that. “Oh dear.” He rubs the bridge of his nose with an abashed grin. “Doesn’t that just put us to shame?”

_ ‘I don’t know. He took all of my tech gear.’  _ At this point I might not even know what I was looking at if you gave me a computer. Nagare has me on complete and total technology lock-down. Even the books and television I am allowed to indulge in are monitored and abysmally old fashioned. Hell, I don’t think I have even seen a film that is post 1995. My knowledge of current events and technology is, shall we say, limited. I let my head rest back against the pillows and close my eyes, just as Zenjou responds with, “I can see why.”

Shit, this is exhausting. I have never had to have an apparatus breath for me before. “Okay, I will let you rest. Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone in. You are safe. I want you to know that.”

Thanks, Zenjou. You seem like you might actually be a nice person. I didn't really think that nice people existed.


	8. Colors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO much love and support the last couple chapters T.T I appreciate it <3
> 
> Stuff is a-brewin'. Can't wait to fill my goblet with the tears of the readers. Haha. Maybe. Yes.

“Okay, Fushimi-san, please follow the light with your eyes.” Jesus! I blink rapidly as the doctor shines a bright flashlight directly into my retinas. It is difficult for me to gaze at it, let alone follow it, as she moves it back and forth. She purses her lips and glances over at Zenjou. “How long did you say it’s been since he’s been outside?”

“Fushimi-kun?” he questions.

I hold out my hand for the whiteboard, which he passes over without hesitation.  _ ‘Six years. I haven’t been outside or seen sunlight.’  _ Is it just me, or am I experiencing a case of deja-vu here? I am fairly certain I have answered this question, or at the  very least  supplied this information on multiple occasions? One would assume that the information would have made its way to the doctor at some point since my arrival.

She pulls at my eyelids, shining the light at my eyes again. Ugh! That hurts damn it! She lets go and sits down on the side of the bed. “Well, Fushimi-san. How do you feel about glasses?”

_ ‘Glasses? Why?’ _ I have never needed them before. Why would I need them now? Well, okay, I guess that is not a fair assessment. Nagare never had my eyesight tested. That would have required actually going to a real doctor. The thought of Nagare dragging the ten year old me to see a legitimate physician is downright hysterical. I was a right shit at that age--accountable to my superlative upbringing of course.

She sighs. “Fushimi-san, if you don’t start wearing glasses or contacts, your eyesight is going to get worse than it already is.”

_ ‘Is my eyesight really that bad? It’s never bothered me before.’  _ I have never struggled reading, or had any issues seeing what I need to.

“You’re eyes are meant to see sunlight. Granted, looking at the sun directly isn’t healthy, but neither is seeing no sunlight whatsoever. The damage that’s been done, is unfortunately, most likely permanent. It may not seem like you need glasses now, but I promise that once you put them on you’ll notice the difference immediately.”

Alright, I understand your reasoning and your logic. It makes sense.  _H_ _owever_ ... _ ‘You do know that I don’t have any money, right?’  _ I wipe the board clean and start again.  _'I don't have any way to buy them.'_

A firm hand lands on my shoulder. Hmm? What is it, Zenjou? If this is a special code for something, it is completely lost on me. “Fushimi-kun, the SVU unit has an allowance for just these types of things. You don’t need to worry, we’ll take care of you.” I look between his earnest expression and the hand on my shoulder. I don’t understand. 

“Fushimi-kun,” he says trailing off. He squeezes my shoulder and forces a smile, a peculiar hint of sorrow in his expression. I cannot imagine what in this conversation could have possibly warranted that sort of reaction. 

Sighing, Zenjou finally drops his arm and says, “Do you know what an SVU unit does?” I reach for the board. “Wait, let me rephrase that. Do you know what we do outside of investigating and prosecuting special victim’s crimes?” Hmm, I suppose not. I shake my head. “We help survivors. We help people like you get back on their feet and integrate back into society. Whether it’s through financial assistance, or special work programs and therapy, our goal is that every survivor will be able to move on and heal from their experience. And that includes you, Fushimi-kun. We want,  _ I _ want, to see you leave here free to live a healthy life without being dragged down by medical expenses that were completely out of your control.”

Zenjou, there you go again being _nice_ and worst of all,  _ caring _ . The fact that you genuinely give a shit about me, a mere whore that you don’t even know, makes me feel a horribly uncomfortable emotion that I cannot identify. All I know is that it hurts. It is the kind of hurt that you feel deep in your chest, as though the very muscles of your heart are confused by what to do with it--whether to close around it and absorb it in, or forcibly shove it out and throw it away. The feeling is strange and confusing and I both love it and hate it. Yet most of all, I hate you for making me feel anything at all. I wish you’d stop treating me kindly. I know that once I return home, all of this nicety that you are offering will disappear. It is better to never receive kindness or love, than to receive them and have them forcibly ripped away. The truth of the matter is, I am not a survivor. This is not my past, this is my present, this is my future, this is my life. Until I can beat him, or he chooses to release me, I am Nagare’s. And I always will be...until the day I die. Nothing you do is going to change that. 

I pull the board closer.  _ ‘Okay, I will wear glasses.’ _

Zenjou gives me a coy grin, pushing his own glasses up his nose slightly. “Well, I don’t know about you, but personally I am partial to red.”

I narrow my eyes at him, giving him a look I hope conveys my great distaste. On the board I write one short word,  _ ‘No.’  _

He laughs while the doctor claps her hands together. “Good! I will be back in a couple hours to remove the tube. Provided everything goes well, and we get you breathing comfortably on your own, I’ll have a nurse escort you down to the main floor to see the optometrist. That way, they’ll have a pair of glasses ready for you on your way out tomorrow.”

Fan-fucking-tastic.

~

_ “Nee! Nee! Saru?” _

_ “Hm?” I look up from my drawing and smile at my friend. “What?” _

_ “What do you wanna be when you get big?” _

_ I giggle. “What do I want to be when I grow up?”  _

_ He shakes his head up and down so vigorously, I wonder for a moment if he’ll crack his neck. _

_ “Well,” I respond, “I want to be a doctor.” _

_ “Eww, why? Don’t you have to do gross things, like touch  _ blood _?” _

_ “He he. Yeah, you do,” I say. He crinkles his nose, disgusted. I stick out my tongue at him. “But if I become a doctor, I can make Mama better. She’s sick a lot and I want to make her feel better.” If I make her feel better, if I take her sickness away, then she’ll love me again. She only loves me when she’s not sick, and she’s sick all the time.  _

_ The only time she’s my Mama anymore is when she comes home from work. When she walks in through the front door, she always gives me a little smile and tells me that I’m her special little boy. But by the time I wake up and it’s morning again, her sickness is back and all her smiles are gone. But I can change that. I can make her better. I can become a doctor and be her hero. And then I’ll be her special little boy all the time. _

_ “You’re really nice, Saru,” he says, smiling. “I bet that will make your mama really happy! I told Mommy that I wanna dance, but she says I can’t. She says dancing isn’t a job. But that’s stupid!” _

_ I push myself up off the ground and stand up. Putting my hands on my hips, I push out my lips and give him my best frown. “Who says dancing can’t be a job?” I hold out my hand to him. He looks at it and grins and I can’t help smiling back. “Come on, Misa-chan. Show me how to dance. You need to teach me.”  _

_ He tries laughing, but ends up snorting instead. Dummy. Grabbing hold of my hand, he gets up and stands in front of me. What do I do now? I actually haven’t danced before...I don’t get the chance to decide what to do. Misa-chan grabs both of my hands and swings me around. I stumble, but manage not to fall, as we spin in a circle. When he lets go of my fingers, I spin around several more times before stopping. Panting, I turn back and look at my friend. Arms lifted high, he continues to spin around, hopping from foot to foot as he continues to laugh. He could probably laugh forever.  _

_ I don’t move. I don’t want to. Misa-chan’s smile makes his whole face glow--something only his face does. Mama and Nii-chan don’t smile like that. They don’t laugh like he does. When my friend turns his face and grins at me, I want to run to him and hug him and never let him go. No one else ever looks at me the way he does--as if seeing me makes them happy. _

_ “Saru?” He comes to a stop and walks over to me. “What’s wrong? You look sad.” _

_ I can’t help myself. I throw my arms around him and squeeze him as tight as I can. “I love you, Misa-chan.” _

_ There isn’t any hesitation as he wraps his arms around me and hugs me back. “I love you too, Saru.”  _

_ Why aren’t you my family, Misa-chan? I want to live here with you. I don’t want to go home. No one at home tells me they love me anymore and I don’t know what I did wrong. _

_ "Can I stay tonight?” I whisper. _

_ “Let me ask!” He tries to move away, but I won’t let him. “Saru?” _

_ “Just one more hug?” Please? I just want one more. One more...  _

_ “Okay,” he giggles, squeezing me tight once again. _

_ Just let me stay here forever. Once I go home, all of this goes away. I don’t want this feeling to go away anymore. I want to keep it. Why can’t I have it? What am I doing wrong? Am I a bad boy? I must be. It must be me. It has to be me... _

_ ~ _

The doctor peels off the last bandage from my back and gives it a gentle pat. “There we are. Doesn’t feel too bad does it?”

“No, actually.” Sore, yes, but painful no. “What did you do?”

She pulls down my shirt and comes around to stand in front of me. “Voodoo magic.” Seriously? I give her an unamused frown. She chuckles at the look. “I simply treated the wounds properly. I stitched up the ones that needed it and used the  _ appropriate  _ medications. You can’t just slap anything on there and hope it works.” Sorry, the person your verbal jab is intended for is not present. Iwa-san is his name, and his current location is unknown.

“Fushimi-kun.”

I turn and look at Zenjou. “Come on, we need to get going. It’s already five and we still need to go back to the optometrist and pick up your glasses. We need to go before it gets dark.”

Zenjou is already suited up with his police jacket and his bag slung around his shoulder, The look he gives me is all business. The moment we leave the sanctity of this room, my life, and his, are open for the taking. A small part of me doesn’t want to leave, doesn’t want to abandon this seemingly impenetrable sanctuary. But I know better. My fantasy that this is a safe-haven is nothing more than that--a fantasy. The only thing that has kept me safe these past few days has been Zenjou’s steadfast, almost military style vigilance. The moment he’s gone, all of the illusion crumbles and I am right back where I started: out in the open, waiting for my death. I stand up, steady on my feet at last. Fuck it, let’s just get on with it. 

“Hold on.” The doctor steps over to Zenjou and hands him 3 pill bottles. “He’ll need to keep taking these, and be checked out by your resident doctor once a day for the next three days. The first two are to help with the residual effects of the poison. The third one is for his back. Got it? If your department can’t handle it, I’ll have no choice but to demand he be brought back here.”

She doesn’t move away until Zenjou replies, “Understood. We’ll be back if there are any issues.”

“Good.” She looks back in my direction and says, “Now remember, all of your discharge paperwork has been taken care of, and everything else is being coordinated with the police station; so theoretically, you shouldn’t be hearing from us anytime soon. However, if you have any issues with your back or chest again, I expect you back here immediately.”

My response is a nod. You truly have no idea just how impossible that may be.

“Come on, Fushimi-kun.” My bodyguard swiftly shoves the pills into his bag and makes his exit. I follow after him, looking on as nearly each and every muscle, from his neck down to his calf, tenses. Hell, I could probably break a brick on those shoulder muscles of his. We step into the elevator and the doors ding closed. “I know we have discussed this multiple times already, but it bears repeating. If I tell you to do something you must obey without hesitation. If I tell you to fall, you fall. If I tell you to run, you run. Do not ask questions. Do not look back. Do not stop. Am I understood?”

Tch. I can understand basic instructions, thank you. “I’m not incompetent.”

The response does not garner a physical reaction of any kind. “And neither is Nagare. Am I understood?”

Another acid retort is on the tip of my tongue, but I bite it back. He’s only doing what’s best for me. I know that; nonetheless, it is still hard to keep my comments in check. “Yes.”

“Good.”

There is no more conversation as the elevator drops down to the main floor. I tug at the long sleeves of the plain, black shirt I’m wearing as we slowly click past each floor. The sleeves don’t quite reach the wrists, something that is starting to irritate me. Would it have really been  _ that  _ difficult to bring just  _ one  _ outfit of mine from the apartment? There is literally an entire dresser and closet full of clothing that would have actually fit me. Even just one outfit that fits would have been preferable to the eclectic assortment of clothing that they dumped on me yesterday. Urgh! I give up! I push the sleeves up above my elbows and leave it at that. Better. First order of business once we get to the police station--demand proper clothing.

We step off the elevator, me flagging Zenjou's left side per the arrangement discussed the previous night. Not much to the strategy really. This is the one and only place that allows me to stand this close to him without impeding his ability to utilize his arm effectively. The optometrist is only a couple doors down from the elevator and we step inside. Zenjou makes a very clear cutting motion with his hand, letting me know in no uncertain terms to shut my fucking trap before I’ve even opened it. No more talking for me today apparently.

He looks around until he finds our optometrist and heads in the direction of her desk, utterly ignoring all the other staff as they attempt to approach him. “Doctor,” he says, “we spoke on the phone earlier. My name is Zenjou. You said I needed to sign something?”

“Ah yes!” She looks up from a stack of papers. “I spoke with someone at your office yesterday to make sure everything was all set. Now as for that paperwork...I know I had it lying around here somewhere. Give me moment.” She heads over to the main counter, and digs around for a few minutes before finally pulling out a few sheets of paper and a glasses case. “Zenjou-san, if you could please come over here and sign these papers, you’ll be good to go.” I follow him over to the counter and grab the case as he pulls the paperwork towards himself and starts reading.

Looking down, I open up the case. The glasses are simple. The shape of the frames are remarkably similar to Zenjou’s, although blessedly not red (any color even remotely related to blood is at the very bottom of my list of desirable color palettes). Despite the color change, I bet there’s a part of Zenjou that's getting a kick out of the frame situation. Asshole. The thought makes me smirk.

  
I take out the glasses and put the case aside on the counter. Opening them, I hold them up to the light and examine them. Nope. No fingerprints. No scratches. No blemishes. An oddly perfect possession for an oddly imperfect being. Heh. My hands fall, and I slowly push the glasses onto my face. The change is instantaneous. Colors flood my vision--bright and beautiful and full of life. A world different from my own is visible through these reflective surfaces, and isn’t that just fascinating? 


	9. Limits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Misa-chan was supposed to be showing up...but his appearance has been delayed by a chapter, unfortunately. This chapter is already longer than I expected and it still isn't complete. I have been working so much overtime the past two weeks I have physically not had the time to write any more. 
> 
> Next chapter after this will be in about 2 weeks. Honeymoon starts in T minus 48 hours. Oh yeah...

I watch the clear revolving doors, spinning around one slow centimeter at a time. Soft rays of afternoon sunlight are spilling through the panes of glass, breaking against their surfaces like droplets of water against a mirror. The sight is nothing like I remember, nothing like the pictures and movies--the rays are a deep, brilliant shade of orange, rimmed with speckled pink accents as though a paint brush has been taken to them. It is probably the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

“Fushimi-kun?”

I cannot respond. Not yet. Just let me enjoy this, just give me this moment. I will not get this opportunity again once we step through those doors. The light...it’s  _ real _ . It’s not just my imagination. It’s not just a memory anymore. I can actually  _ see  _ it. My whole body is shaking, and I do not know what to do about it. This is all I have wanted for so long. I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to laugh. I want to smile. And yet, I cannot manage to do any of them. There are so many words, so many feelings, and yet no words at all, purely silence.

Zenjou finally turns around so he can fully look at me. “Fushimi-kun--”

“Just,” I cut him off.  _ Don’t _ . I need you to understand. I reach out with my trembling fingers and grasp hold of his empty sleeve. “It’s just--” I stop mid-sentence, my throat constricting. My eyes itch, but no tears fall. “Please, just--"

He looks at me, stricken. His large hand reaches up and envelopes mine, giving it a quick squeeze before dropping away. “Okay,” he whispers, “it’s okay.”

The world stands still as the sunshine morphs and envelopes me. The warmth of it seems to reach me, even here on the inside. It chases away the chill inside my chest, even if for only for this moment. I wish I could stand here for eternity. As though from far away, I hear a soft ringing. “Yes, sir. Is the car out front? Two minutes? Okay, we’ll be there. Fushimi-kun…” I hear Zenjou’s quiet request. I want nothing more than to run away from him, as far away as my legs will carry me; and yet, I forcibly drag my eyes away from the light, digging my fingers into the fabric of his jacket so tightly I could rip off a piece. “We have to go. The car will be outside in just a moment. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” I murmur, although I am not sure if I believe it myself. I unclench my fingers and force myself to let go of Zenjou’s jacket so he can focus on his job. When he is fully turned away from me, I steal the opportunity to bite my bottom lip. I bite it hard enough that the tang of fresh blood trickles onto my tongue and slides down my throat. The copper taste is a crude, unsatisfying contradiction to the warmth offered by the outside sun. Wake up, Saruhiko. You  _ must  _ pull yourself together , or this will be the last time you ever see the light again. If you survive another day, there will be other opportunities, few though they may be. But if you cannot get your head out of your ass this may be it for you.

“Alright,” Zenjou mutters, “let’s go.”

My legs are stiff and uncooperative; nevertheless, through sheer force of will, I make myself follow along beside Zenjou as we head into the revolving doorway and step out into the open air. The breeze picks up and my nostrils flare. There are so many different smells--too many. They are all blended together as one muddled, ugly, unpleasant stench. The wind is no more comforting than the stench. It swirls around me, fluttering across my skin like hands accustomed to the feel of my flesh beneath its fingertips. I do not like the feeling at all. It is peculiar and uncomfortable and foreign. Shaking my head, I try to dispel the imagery that begins to stir.  _ Stay focused _ . I follow Zenjou to the curb, standing close-by as we wait for our ride.

Across the street from us, there are buildings lining every street corner. We are deep in the heart of the city now. Although, now that I think about it, where in the hell is this place? I do not remember anyone ever telling me where exactly we are. Should I ask Zenjou? I see a flash of light, which forces me to blink rapidly. There are way too many buildings in such a small space. The light reflects off of everything. How can anyone see in a place like this? The doctor was right. It would not surprise me if I were to literally go blind if I took off these glasses. They have already darkened significantly and it is only evening. I cannot imagine what’ll happen during the daytime.

Movement to my right catches my eye. What the hell is that?! I do a swift spin, but find nothing there.  _ Jesus _ . Clearly I am getting overly paranoid. Closing my eyes, I put my head down and take a deep, relaxing breath. Keeping my eyes closed, I focus on slowing my heartbeat. There we are. One beat at a time. Come on, Saruhiko. Keep a level head. There is no reason to be so flustered. I open my eyes and look down...Nope, my paranoia is completely and utterly justified. There is an honest to fucking God red laser dot moving up my chest. I am about to get fucking sniped outside of a fucking hospital. Are you shitting me, Nagare?

“ _ Shit! _ ”

A body collides with mine, and I tumble to ground.  _ Fuck _ ! Shards of gravel and stones bury themselves into my freshly healing wounds, tearing at their seams and causing me to cry out. The pain swarms over my skin, the cotton clinging to each tear by what I hope is sweat and not blood. I grapple with the body on top of me, each movement making my back throb. Damn it! Get the fuck off of me! 

“ _Stop_ _moving_ , _Fushimi-kun_ ,” a low voice growls next to my ear.

I freeze. Zenjou has  _ never _ sounded like this before. My back is pulsing, the weight of his body making it impossible to escape the sharpened stones beneath me; I remain still regardless. I am too afraid to move. “Zenjou,” I breathe, “what’s wrong?” Are you going to hurt me? Instead of a verbal reply, his arm moves up and wraps around my head. I feel a warm spill of liquid trickle down my cheek. Is that  _ blood _ ? My heart stops beating “Zenjou?”

“I have a bulletproof vest on. I’m okay,” he whispers, his voice soft once more. My heart stutters to life again, beating swift and sporadic. “But if I move," he continues, "you will die. So please, stop moving and let me do my job.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake! “By dying in my place?” I hiss. “What is the point of that?!”

“They aren’t shooting now are they?”

_ Actually _ ...no, surprisingly not. “Why aren’t they?”

“Sniping works best when done in one or two shots. There is no guarantee that the bullet will penetrate me and hit you. The more they shoot, the more likely we are to find them.”

But still, your life is  _ not _ worth the risk. “My life isn’t worth saving if you have to sacrifice yours,” I say. I have wanted death. Asked for it.  _ Begged _ for it. And you’re...you’re actually a decent human being. I’m just somebody’s pet whore.

“Fushimi-kun,” he murmurs, “I know I’m not at liberty to tell you what to think, but I can tell you to shut up.”  _ What _ ?! “You are  _ not _ worthless. And if I hear anything else to the contrary, you and I are going to have words.”

“Detective!” A car screeches to a stop besides us, the doors flinging open.

I don’t have time to think, let alone time to breath or move. All I hear is the word ‘move’ being screamed repeatedly by shadowy voices from within the vehicle. The body lying atop mine rolls to the side as faceless, bodiless hands grab at me and drag me inside the car. It takes a only a moment and then the car doors slam closed. Within seconds, the car is speeding away with the alarm blaring. I push myself up and look around the small space. There are two men in the car I don’t recognize: one in the back and another in the front seat driving the car. The driver grabs the radio, muttering into it and quickly putting it back on the hook. Beyond those few words, neither man speaks.

Zenjou is in the front passenger seat patting his cheek with a cloth. His face is bleeding. Which means the bullet came in contact with his  _ face _ when he was pushing my slow, inept ass out of the way. It is a miracle that he’s not dead right now. As if sensing my gaze, Zenjou glances back at me, the look a peculiar mixture of embarrassment and compunction. The glance only lasts for a split second, and then he is facing forward again, pointedly ignoring me. Whilst staring out the front window, he mumbles, “The bullet barely grazed me. Don’t worry about it.”

I collapse against the seat and close my eyes. “Fucking Christ,” I mutter. “ ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he says.” You nearly get shot in the face and your response is, ‘don’t worry about it’? What the hell is wrong with you? 

A phone rings. “Yes, Captain?” Zenjou says, sounding as though nothing out of the ordinary has occurred. Seriously, your head is clearly not screwed on properly. “No. Anything? West. The building to the left of the hotel. There probably won’t be much to find. No, no, everyone is fine. The doctor is going to need to take a look at his back. He fell on the ground pretty hard. Yes, yes, okay Captain. See you in five.”

My bodyguard does not offer up any information from the phone call and I do not ask. I will find out soon enough. To my surprise, the trip only lasts a few minutes. When the car comes to a stop, the alarm shuts down and the doors click open. I hear the others begin to file out, which prompts me to finally open my eyes. Is it truly necessary that I get out? I can always just relax in here…At least we don’t have to worry about me getting shot at again. That has to be an improvement, right?

Sighing, I slide myself to the edge of the seat and step out of the car. Within a heartbeat, Zenjou is by my side once again. Damn it, he’s fast. The cloth he was using is gone, leaving just a deep red line cutting across his face from cheek to ear. Every now and again a stray drop of blood squeezes out, trickling down his face and dripping onto the collar of his jacket. Oh yeah, that looks simply  _ fantastic _ . Nothing to worry about in the least. I would never dream of admitting this to him, but the sight of the wound is horrifying. But if Zenjou is bothered by it, he doesn’t show a single iota of that concern. His face is set like a block of carved stone--immovable and cold. The only thing on his mind is the job. 

“Come on, Fushimi-kun. Follow me.” There are two separate buildings. We head towards the one on the right, taking a side path and heading in through a side entrance. Zenjou pauses with his hand on the door. “Before we enter, I need to forewarn you. We are currently going through a remodel. The entrance to the SVU unit is closed at the moment, so we have to go in through one of the entrances for the Juvenile Probation and Parole unit. They do not like us.”

What the hell do I care? Even if they did know who I was, there shouldn’t be any reason for them to give a shit about who I am or what I do. No more words are spoken as we enter the building and head towards the woman at the front counter. Zenjou flashes his ID and she presses a button on her desk. I follow him closely as he opens a door, bypassing the metal detector blocking access to the building. The door opens into a narrow hallway, which we follow for only a minute. It ends quite unexpectedly, opening up to a large workroom. Desks and shelves are lined along the walls, white boards and computers jammed into every remaining available space. Dozens of men are milling around: some are at desks interviewing teenagers, some are moving between cabinets grabbing folders and dropping papers, and others are merely standing around talking amongst themselves. Simply put, I do not trust any of them.

I pull in even closer to Zenjou, my eyes roving around the room, taking note of every man’s face from his hair color down to the shape of his nose. And I am not wrong to be doing so. The comedic pin-drop silence seen in films is not reality. What is reality, however, is the lull in conversation, the way men’s eyes shift from their papers, glancing in our direction as they sense our presence--something alien and foreign. I can understand the sentiment.

Zenjou, unsurprisingly, does not react. “Let’s go.”

I manage to walk three steps. And that’s when I hear it--spoken, not whispered, intended to be heard, not hidden. “Do they have to keep bringing all of these damn, dirty faggots through here? Isn’t that damn door fixed yet? We don’t need every disease-ridden slut who had a bit too much to drink being dragged through here in front of our kids who are actually trying to turn their lives around.”

You did not just say that to me. I don’t give two shits what you think of me. You can call me any and every name conceivable and I will laugh my ass off until my lips turn blue. But, I _cannot_ , I _will not_ , accept the idea that you would dare say that to anyone walking in here. Have you ever watched a man being raped? Have you ever seen a woman fucked open with an immovable, metal object? Have you ever seen a person raped and beaten beyond recognition, their eyes dead, soulless things, despite their body’s unwillingness to simply give up and die? I have. What gives you the right to degrade those men and women, even with your words? They are _people_. We didn’t choose to be whores. We didn’t choose this life. What gives you the right to _judge_ us? You don’t have the right, you worthless piece of trash.

I look towards the direction of the voice, which is fortunately within Zenjou and mine’s path. It is not difficult to find him. The man has his sights set on me, that is all too apparent. He immediately catches my eye, rolling back his shoulders and gifting me with a challenging sneer. Heh, you dumb fuck. Your physique doesn’t even come close to that of the men I practice with. I am going to crush you. 

The men standing within earshot glance back and forth between us (waiting for my response I can only assume). Can’t keep the poor fellows waiting. I meet the man’s stare head-on, allowing my lips to twist upwards into a smirk. With methodical precision, I lift a hand, softly curling all but my middle finger, which I place directly onto my smiling lips. The man balks, his face flushing a bright crimson. You are too damn easy.

“Fushimi-kun,” Zenjou says, “I am not going to turn around to look, but I expect that you’ll follow?”

“Of course,” I lie. I do not start things I don’t intend to finish. You don’t know me _t_ _ hat  _ well, Zenjou. And this man needs to be taught a lesson.

I continue walking, not looking away or dropping my snarky smile. Just a few more steps and I will be there. I see Zenjou stop up ahead, although he does not turn around. You are assuming that I intend to make a smart-ass remark, don’t you? Oh how very wrong you are. When I am a within striking distance, the man starts working his mouth to try and speak. The facial expression he’s making is akin to a man faced with the task of cleaning runny vomit or shit off a thick carpeted floor. I am terribly sorry sir that my mere presence is an affliction to you, but quite frankly, I have no intention of allowing you to speak.

I give him one final, supercilious leer before I move. He does not react. I do not give him the opportunity. I come in from below, using the momentum of the upwards movement to jab my forearm into his neck and cut off his airflow with one hard, single strike. The man drops to one knee instantaneously. Hmm, I suppose a room falling silent  _ can _ be a reality. How  _ fascinating _ . I hover above the man and watch him hack as he struggles to breathe. While everyone is still frozen in stunned silence, I take the opportunity to grab a handful of his thick hair and pull him up, bending his neck backwards while he continues to wheeze. This is how we get people to pay attention in my home. Is it working for you? 

I smile at him, leaning forward until our faces almost touch. “Was  _ faggot _ ,” I practically spit the word into his face, “really the best you could do?”

Keeping hold of his hair, I close the distance between us and press my lips against his still gasping ones. His lips are cold and chapped, his breath tasting of alcohol and cigarettes.  _ Argh, how vile _ . I hold the kiss only long enough to make my point. Pulling back, I loosen my grip on his hair and slide my fingers down and around his neck. “Whoops,” I whisper. 

Slightly louder, I continue, “I suppose I should have warned you. The men who fuck me are the jealous types. The last man I kissed was hogtied and castrated before having his windpipe crushed.” True story that. I kissed a man in front of Nagare once in retaliation for one thing or another. Instead of beating me black and blue, Nagare had Yukari fuck me while he tortured the man in front of us. I refused to leave my room for several weeks following that incident. I felt like the most awful human being ever to be put on the face of the earth. Even now, I feel a twinge of guilt when I think about the pain I caused. And all for one idiotic, childish revenge kiss. 

Now  _you_ , on the other hand, surely there is nothing for _you_ to feel guilty about? I am sure you are an _upstanding_ _citizen_. My facial muscles twitch, my smile turning into something dark and nasty. Men like you make me sick. Perhaps it is my look, or perhaps it is merely the panic from nearly choking, but his eyes are wide, wild even, fear seeping into his expression. The sight of it makes my lips curl, a feeling of what I could only describe as aberrant satisfaction rushing through me. As his breathing starts coming under his control once more, I let my fingers slip away from his neck and step back. “Don’t worry,” I say, “I’m sure you’ll be fine. After all, you’re not a _fairy_ are you?”

I turn away from him and take a few steps in order to put some distance between us. Craning my neck, I glance over my shoulder at him. The look in my eyes is a cold juxtaposition to the leer spread across my face. “Oh, and by the way, you might want to consider brushing your teeth once in awhile. It tastes like you’ve spent the last hour rimming a shitty asshole.” 

I don’t bother looking back again as I walk away and catch up with Zenjou. My bodyguard doesn’t say a word to me as he begins walking again. I follow him through one door and into a separate hallway where he stops in front of a pair of double doors with fogged glass panes. My bodyguard doesn’t turn around, but the seriousness of his tone when he speaks is unmistakable. “Fushimi-kun, I know you’ve been through a lot, and we are going to get you help to deal with these problems, but you can’t do things like that. What you did just now is  _ assualt _ . I could arrest you right now and throw you in jail for that.”

My sneer doesn’t dissipate in the slightest. What’s your point? “He deserved every moment of that and you know it.”

He sighs. “No, he didn’t. We don’t fight discrimination with violence. That is what the law is for. That is what police officers are for.”

“I won’t apologize because I am not sorry. I would gladly do it again.” Zenjou turns and looks at me. The look on his face is what one would call ‘disappointed’. I’ve seen the expression enough times to recognize it. “You could have easily stopped me," I continue, "but chose not to. Heh, discrimination is what you call it. The police aren’t always there to tell you what is right and what is wrong. In my house there are no laws, only rules. And you either choose to follow them or you choose to break them. When you break the rules you get punished. And that man deserved to be punished.” 

I can’t help the condescending chuckle that bubbles up inside of my chest and leaks out of my mouth. You may be older than me, Zenjou, but even you have your naivety. “Laws are an interesting notion, but they mean nothing if order isn’t kept. You can’t keep order with people like that. I’ve run my mouth enough times to know the consequences. He needed to learn that lesson.”

My words do not seem to have the desired effect. It does not look like he is going to back down any time soon. “That is not your decision to make. That is for the police to decide.”

You just don’t get it, do you? “Why do people who are never around get to make the decisions?”

He considers my words and thinks through his response. “The police cannot be every place at once. It simply isn’t possible.”

"They are never there,” I say softly. My earlier delight begins to fade along with my smile. I do not like the direction this conversation is taking.

“That’s not true,” he replies. “The police do their best to save whoever they can. Just like they did when they found you.”

All remaining amusement flees me. I do not know if it is possible for your heart muscle to crystallize and freeze, but it certainly feels like it can. I meet his gaze head-on and detach myself from the emotions clawing at the frayed edges of my psyche. I shove them down as deep as they will go and bury them, allowing the emptiness to swallow them whole. It is better to feel nothing at all and embrace the cold void, than to allow the emotions to eat you alive.

“The police didn’t save me,” I say clearly. “Where were the police 3 years ago? 6 years ago? Where were you when I really needed you? No Zenjou, the police do not get to tell me what to do. You had the chance to save me 13 years ago when I was still a child worth saving. Nothing you do now can turn back the clock and bring that child back. I am somebody’s property now, despite how much you wish that wasn't true. The sooner you realize that, the less disappointed you are going to be when I'm gone. I. Am. A. Whore. I loathe Nagare. I would love nothing more than to personally put a well deserved bullet right between his eyes.” I make sure that he is looking me directly in the eyes, when I say the next bit, “But Nagare is my everything.”

  
Zenjou’s face is twisted up with so many emotions I cannot even begin to imagine what is what. The truth is ugly and vile, but it had to be said. You needed to hear it. I turn away and step over to the double doors. I grab one of the door handles and push it open. Zenjou does not try to stop me as I step into the SVU department. He becomes a silent presence beside me once more, although I can feel the tension radiating from him--whether it is sadness, anger, or some other emotion, I do not know. When he looked at me, there were so many emotions jumbled together, it seemed as though he were lost and couldn't decide on which one he should be feeling. I'm sorry, Zenjou. I have no comfort to offer you. I feel lost too.


	10. Breaking Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally back! Sorry guys. The last six weeks included two weeks of constant overtime, a wedding, a honeymoon, a reception, catching up with work, and training new people at work.
> 
> But, on the positive side of things, this is the longest chapter to date. That is partially because it took me the longest to write...Haha.
> 
> In either case, please enjoy and let me know your thoughts! I hope you like it and I hope it was worth the wait...

_ There are thousands of flowers in bloom. There must be thousands. It is the most flowers I have ever seen--blues and purples and pinks and greens. It is so pretty and so wonderful. There weren’t any flowers at the apartment: not a bush, not a tree, not even a patch of grass. There wasn’t anywhere to play outside. I am so lucky. I cannot wait to show Misa-chan. There are even butterflies here. I have never seen one so close before. Their wings are so colorful, although the ones with the blue wings are my favorites. One of them landed on my shoulder once. I think it wanted to be my friend. Can you be friends with a butterfly? Do they know who is nice and who isn’t? _

_ “Oi! Saru-chan!” _

_ I look up at the sound of Yukari Nii-chan's voice. He’s sitting on a stone bench with a pad of paper and a pencil in hand. He sets his notepad to the side and sets the pencil on top. “Come here, Saru-chan!” _

_ He pats his lap, so I walk over to the bench and stand facing him. His long hair is pulled up in a bun, stray strands falling in his face. His hair is almost like girl’s hair, but not quite. The thickness of it and the curls dangling at the ends give him a very handsome appearance. When it’s wet he lets me touch it and mess it up. My hair isn’t long enough to do anything fun with it. Mama forbade me to have long hair. I asked once, but she  _ really _ didn’t like that. She screamed at me before grabbing me by the neck and dragging me into the bathroom. Once we were there, she took the first pair of scissors she could find and hacked it. It was  _ ugly _. Everyone at school laughed at me for weeks. Misa-chan was the only one who didn’t make fun of me, even though he knew it was hideous. _

_ As usual, there is a big smile spread across Nii-chan’s face. He is always smiling, even when everyone else is furious and yelling. I am glad that he does. It makes me feel safe being near him. “Whatcha doing out here, Saru-chan? Shouldn’t you be inside doing your homework?” _

_ I frown at him. “I finished all my homework.” _

_ “Well then, hop on up here.” He sits up straight and pats his lap. I hesitate. Nii-chan gets really weird when I sit on his lap. Pausing, he gives me a look. I don’t understand what the look means, but it makes me horribly uncomfortable. Despite how awkward it makes me feel though, I don't know what over options I have. So I obey his request--I climb onto his lap, even if it's just to make him stop giving me that look. As soon as I am settled, long arms wrap around my waist and a pointed chin sets down on my shoulder. You’re  _ heavy _. _

_ “Yukari Nii-chan?” I say, “you’re heavy...can you please get off?” _

_ A laugh makes my back shake and it makes me want to laugh with him. He squeezes me and I giggle. “Why would I do that? You’re just too cute.” His fingers spread wide and grab a hold of my sides, squeezing again. The feeling causes me to squirm. Stop it! I don’t like that! _

_ “Nii-chan! Stop it!” _

_ The fingers stop pressing in, but they do not move away. “Alright, well, Nagare is looking for you. He’s in his study. You better get going or you’ll be in trouble.” The cheek leaning against mine rubs up and down slowly, the skin soft and the movement gentle. Turning his face sideways, his lips press into my cheek. “You’re a good boy, Saru-chan,” he whispers. “You’re perfect.” What? You don’t make any sense. Letting go, he nudges me to get off his lap. I stumble, trying to stand. Geez, you don’t need to push me. I’ll go. _

_ I race up the pathway towards the house and head inside. I still haven’t learned where everything is yet, but I do know that the study is up on the third floor. It was one of the first rooms Nagare Nii-chan showed me. There is a large staircase in the center of the house that goes around so many times it makes me dizzy. One day, when I have more friends, I’ll bring them over and we can race. I’m not very fast, but Misa-chan likes racing so I’m trying to get better at it. I run up the stairs, all the way up to the third floor. My chest hurts by the time I reach the top. So. Many. Steps. _

_ I stand outside the study for a minute until I stop panting. Knocking on the door, I wait to grab the handle until I hear Nii-chan call out, "Come in.” _

_ Opening the door, I find my new brother sitting on a couch against the far wall. He is leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his fingers gently threaded together. “There you are,” he says. Although he is smiling, the look on his face does not seem pleased. Is he angry at me? Did I do something wrong? “Come sit here next to me.” _

_ Going over to him, I quickly sit down and clasp my hands together. “Nii-chan?” I whisper. “Am I in trouble?” _

_ Running his fingers through his thick hair, he sighs. "No, it is nothing like that my darling little Saruhiko. I wanted to talk to you about something.” A hand settles on my knee and squeezes. “We have talked a few times about taking you back to the apartments to visit your friend. Or having him come and visit us here. You remember?” _

_ “Yeah! Have you talked with Misa-chan’s mom? Can he come visit? When can I go see him?” Finally! It has been so long since I’ve seen him--I really  _ really  _ miss him. It’s lonely all by myself. Iwa-san homeschools me and there aren’t any other families, or even houses around. All I have are my new brothers and Iwa-san. Yukari and Nagare are both really busy and Gojou-kun is a baby. It isn't all that fun to play with a baby. He cannot even talk yet. _

_ “Saruhiko,” he says. Using his free hand, he reaches for a stack of papers on his other side and grabs a newspaper from the top. “You are not going to be able to visit him.” _

_ The words make me frown. That’s not what you said before. “What do you mean? You said I could go see him. You promised. Am I being punished? What did I do wrong? I can fix it! I know I can!” _

_ Clicking his tongue, he hands me the newspaper. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Saruhiko. You aren’t being punished. And this isn’t something you can fix.” Yes it is. Just tell me what to do. And I’ll do it. I’ll do anything you want me to! I can do better! “Look at the front page. You see that building there?” _

_ I grab the newspaper and look at it. Huh, what's going on? “It looks a lot like my old home.” _

_ “That’s because it is. That’s the apartment building where you and your friend lived. It burned down a few days ago. Everyone who was inside the building died, Saruhiko.” _

_ “What?” The building burned down? Everyone  _ died _? _

_ “There was a fire. The fire destroyed the building and killed everyone inside. Your friend is dead. He’s gone. He can’t come over because he’s dead and when someone dies they cannot come back. Do you understand, Saruhiko?” _

_ He’s dead? Like Mama? Misa-chan is gone _ forever? _ “B-but,” I stumble over the words. “He was okay when I left. I just saw him. Y-you s-said I could go see him. I want to see him! You p-promised! I want to see Misa-chan  _ right now _!” I choke. Getting up on my knees, I grab hold of Nii-chan’s shirt. Misa-chan isn’t dead! He isn’t dead! My whole body seizes as I start to cry. It hurts. My chest hurts. My head hurts. Everything  _ hurts _. “I w-w-want M-misa-c-chan!” He’ll smile and tell me he loves me. He’s my only friend. He’s the only person who loves me. Bring him back! My hands are shaking too bad for me to hold onto Nii-chan any more. I let go and press my hands into my eyes. Everything hurts so much. I don’t know what to do. MAKE IT STOP! _

_ “Shh, Saruhiko. It’s okay. You have me now. It’s going to be okay. I’m here. I’ll always be here for you. I’ll never leave you.” Nii-chan’s arms wrap around me and hug me tight. I dig my face into his chest and continue to cry. Please. Please tell me you love me. Please don’t let me go. I’ll be good. I’ll do whatever you want me to. Just don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me. “I’m here, Saruhiko. It’s okay. I’m here now.” _

~

I look around the office and the dozens of people rushing about. Unlike the other unit, every officer and their pet patient aren’t turning around to stare at us. In fact, they do not even acknowledge our presence. They are too busy doing their jobs. What an interesting concept that is--actually doing your job and not instigating fights with rape victims.  _ How shocking _ . I feel Zenjou’s presence at my back. He leans in and whispers to me, his tone tight and controlled, “At the other end, there are two doors. We’re going in through the door on the right. The Captain is in an interview right now. When he finishes up we’ll go in so the two of you can talk. We should only have a few minutes to wait.”

From the tone in his voice, it is clear that Zenjou is still upset over my earlier comments. I don’t know what the hell you want from me. What is it exactly that you thought was going to happen? Did you think that Nagare would just give up on me? That I would willingly leave him? That I would start a new life--get a job, buy a house, get married, have 2.5 kids and a dog? Is that what normally happens with the people you rescue? There are a dozen scornful remarks right on the tip of my tongue, but I reel in the urge to give a contemptuous response and settle on saying, “Okay, lead the way.”

I let Zenjou go on in front of me and trail along behind him. We enter into a room of barely contained chaos. The Lieutenant from the raid, along with half a dozen other officers, are sitting around a table arguing amongst themselves. In the room, there is a small table in the corner, an older TV siting atop it. The TV immediately grabs my attention, or more specifically, the gory images flashing across the screen catch my attention. What the fuck are they watching? I squint my eyes, pushing my glasses up my nose as they attempt to slide off right off my face.

The decor on the TV screen is familiar--one of Nagare's many play rooms. In the center of the room is a naked woman positioned on her knees, her face pressed to the floor. Her hair is spilled around her, the strands drenched with sweat and blood, liquid dripping of them and staining the ground red and black. Her hands are tied behind her back, making it impossible for her to move from her position. The man standing above her is doused in that repugnant life essence, the red liquid trickling down his face mask and chest.

I only vaguely recognize the man. He joined Nagare's crew only a few week’s before the raid. I am not sure I have even heard his name before. Despite his limited with us though, it looks like he is already doing a fine job. There is absolutely no doubt that he will become a regular. Most of the new guys don’t have this much finesse in their first few sessions. These officers wouldn’t have the vaguest concept if I were to tell them this; but, keeping her in that position without getting the entire floor saturated and smeared with blood is incredibly difficult. However, regardless of this man's mutilation capabilities, what I currently find more intriguing is why this video is so casually playing in the background? Have you had these videos running at all hours of the day? You people are either sick in the head or emotional masochists...or both. Not that I am in any position to judge.

When I look next to the TV, I find something even more disturbing. A large whiteboard is set-up, dozens of photos are hanging from it, attached by magnets. It is impossible not to recognize the faces and bodies of each and every person on that board. Staff, cameramen, and slaves--all of them dead or in prison it is safe to presume at this point. These must be the people they captured during the raid. There is even a photo or two of my would be assassin on there. I ignore the voices. I ignore the inevitable silence. I walk across the room and stand in front of the board to get a better look.

In the upper right hand corner there are a multitude of photos of myself--different ages, different positions, different places and times. One could almost call it a mini-collage of my life to date. How did they get their hands on those? Although, what I am even more curious about, is where the hell is everything else? There are huge gaps of time within this collage. If they had explored the regular’s server--as I had  _ so kindly _ suggested in my angry outburst earlier this week--they would’ve had much more than this. 90% of my videos are kept on that website. The majority of these photos are from fairly tame, practically consensual shoots that I did with Yukari. Where the hell are all the photos from the Nagare shoots? Did you dumb shits really not get to enjoy the beautiful, dulcet tones of my tortured screams as Nagare bent, beat, and raped me in every way imaginable? How unfortunate for you.

_ Hold on _ . I take a closer look at the two photos hanging in the middle of the board. I recognize her...That beautiful, smiling, radiant woman, the one waving at the camera in this photo...she is the one Ishi just killed. Did they find some of her belongings in the building? They must have if they were able to identify her. Her body should be long gone and burned. All of the single use whores are immediately taken to be bleached inside and out and then burned in the incinerator. No DNA evidence is left behind. Or at least that is the idea. I turn my attention to the second image. Although a lot of the blood has been washed away, the body and the cuts made to it are unmistakable. That broken and disfigured corpse with it’s face cut up beyond recognition--that’s her. My heart stutters. How did they get that photo? She was dead. By the time the raid happened, her body should have been disposed of. The  _ only  _ reason why her body would not have been destroyed would be if she were still alive...

_ Oh dear God _ . She wasn’t dead.  _ When they carried her away, she wasn’t dead _ . That means they bleached her while she was still  _ alive _ . Was she conscious during that too? If they didn’t immediately dispose of her body after the clean-up, then she survived not just the torture, but the bleaching too. Vomit crawls up my throat and I choke trying to keep it down.  _ Oh shit _ . I cough and hack several more times, fighting a losing battle with my body not to throw-up all over the floor. I press my fist against my mouth and swallow as many times as I can. No, no, no, do  _ not _ throw-up. Swallow it.  _ Swallow it _ .

I sat there and watched them take you away. And I didn’t do a single thing to stop them. I could have, I  _ should _ have checked. I should have made sure you were dead. There was plenty of opportunity. I could have asked for leniency, asked for mercy. I have done so before. Nagare has indulged my whims more than once. This is my fault. I was there and I didn’t make even the most paltry attempt to protect you. How long did your body hold on? How long did your body struggle? How long did you linger, your body clinging to life after having the bleach forced up inside of you and dripped over your body?  _ Fuck fuck fuck _ !

I am so sorry. I could have made your death swift. Instead your body held on for days.  _ Days _ . My hand trembles as I reach out and rip both of her photos off of the board. You don’t deserve to be gawked at. You deserve,  _ you deserved _ , so much more than this. What would you say to me knowing that your life ended as a mere show? That thousands of deranged assholes will watch it, needing the video as a perverse substitute for their own sick desires? Would you ask me why I didn’t step in? Ask me why I didn’t try to shield you? Would you give me an embittered look and ask why I did not trade myself for you? Shaking, I press the two photos to my chest, the glossy material crumbling beneath the pressure of my fingertips. This is all my fault. I am so sorry.  _ Please forgive me _ .

Bile continues to tickle the back of my throat, my hand convulsing and crushing the photos even more. “Fushimi-kun? Is everything okay? Do you recognize her?” Zenjou’s voice breaks into my thoughts, the sound of it gentle and soothing. It is a sharp contrast to my own inner voice, the one screaming at me and reminding me over and over again-- _ this is your fault _ .

My breath shudders. Great, just great, my cheeks are wet.  _ ‘Crying again, Saruhiko? Are you lonely? Do you want me to take care of your loneliness? Would that make you feel better?’  _ Shut the fuck up, Nagare. Just shut the hell up. I hastily wipe at my face. For fuck’s sake, Saruhiko, get a hold of yourself. “I’m fine,” I mutter into the silence of the room. Coughing, I swallow again, trying to cleanse my mouth of the noxious taste of vomit.

“I don’t know who she is. I watched her get tortured is all. It was a  _ treat _ .” A chuckle bursts out of me. Even to my ears the laugh sounds deranged. Yes, I am well aware of my insanity. No need to tell me. “Nagare was rewarding me. He made me watch her die. Or at least I thought she had died. I didn’t know she had survived the torture. I thought she was dead.” I continue to laugh, more tears forcing themselves out. Just  _ stop _ it, Saruhiko. You’re being unduly dramatic. Suck it up. “But if you found her body, then she wasn’t dead yet. All dead slaves are bleached and incinerated.”

It is the Lieutenant who responds, “She was barely clinging to life when we found her. She passed before we could get her to a hospital. We have gotten in contact with her sister. She’ll be here tonight to identify the body.”

The tears slow and I use my free hand to scrub hard at my face before turning around to face the room at large. “You are going to make her look at her sister like that,” I state. I cannot help a twinge of repulsion color my voice. You can't be serious.

“Unfortunately, yes. Fushimi, she is the only family there is.” She meets my gaze, unflinching. She is certainly one of the most audacious women I have ever met. “Which is why it would be really helpful if you could tell us what you know. I would like to be able to tell her as much information as possible.

I pick through each word carefully before replying. “What I do and do not tell you is completely up to you and what questions you ask me. I am not going to sit her and guess at what information you want to know. Furthermore, there is some information that simply is not in my best interest to tell you.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“No.”

A frown immediately mars her features, wrinkling her pretty face and giving off the image of a dour, old maid. You really should consider smiling more often. You are going to age yourself far before your time. “W--”

“Lieutenant,” Zenjou cuts in, “now is not the time to be arguing the semantics. If you have a question that cannot wait, ask it now. We have to go in and see the Captain in just a couple minutes. If there are questions you want to ask you can do so later after the Captain has had the opportunity. A lot of your questions will more than likely be asked and answered during the Captain’s interview.”

Thank you, Zenjou. I appreciate the candidness. I could not have said it better myself. She sighs by way of response, intently considering her next few words before deciding on her singular question. “The photos we have of you up there. Who is the man with you? Is that Nagare?”

Intriguing question choice. No, ‘where’s Nagare, we know you know!’ this time? I am honestly surprised you didn't just come right out and ask for Nagare’s personal cell phone number and email address. Not that I have either of them. “It’s Yukari. Yukari doesn’t like physical torture. He likes mind games.” It is why I actually came in most of the videos that you have photos from. “If you were hoping it was Nagare, you are way off point. My videos with Nagare are on a special server just for regulars. I already told your Captain that several days ago. If you have not yet found it, it is not my problem. Figure it out.”

The tension in the room is palatable. Did I offend you? Tch. I sigh and rethink my response. If giving them a bit more information will keep them from hounding me and giving me death glares the whole time I am stuck here, I suppose that is what I will do. It is not as though I actually expect you people to find any of the other houses, let alone Nagare himself. “Listen, you need to start paying less attention slaves. We aren’t masked and hidden because we do not pose a threat. We are either kept, sold, or killed. The dominants all have regular lives outside of these videos. It’s why they wear the masks. Each of them have a mask specifically designated to them. Didn’t you notice that the same masks are reused?”

I use my thumb and point over my shoulder at the photos of myself on the whiteboard. “In all of these videos, the rapist is wearing the same mask. Did you realize that? That is Yukari’s mask. Nagare wears a different one. Once you figure out how to access the regular’s website, you’ll be able to see all of the videos with Nagare, and all of the videos I’ve done with Nagare and Yukari together. That server has videos dating back over a decade. Yukari is the only person Nagare allows to touch me so you shouldn’t encounter any issues distinguishing who Nagare is in the videos. The other slaves who are regulars will be on that site as well. They aren’t in any of the photos you have here because all of the regulars are well taken care of. They were evacuated before you raided.”

Pity, revulsion, shock, sympathy--your reactions are so dully predictable it is almost comical. Think what you will. Feel what you will. Use my information in whatever way you want, but I have said enough. I let the hand holding the photos drop down next to my side. I had not realized I was still clutching the damned things to my chest. “Are we done here?” I look up at Zenjou and the hard look in his eyes. “Let’s go see if the Captain is ready for us.”

“Alright,” is all Zenjou says. I walk back towards the entrance and stand next to him. Zenjou opens the door and gestures me out. “Lieutenant, Fushimi-kun still needs to be seen the doctor. Could you let him know that we’re here and will be ready to see him in about 30 minutes?"

She nods without comment as Zenjou and I leave. “I think I’m okay," I comment. "My back isn’t hurting anymore. I don’t think seeing the doctor will be necessary.”

He glances down at me as we step over to the adjacent doorway. “That may be, but the doctor still needs to take a look at you.” Reaching out his hand, he places it on my shoulder and gives it a quick squeeze before letting it drop away again. “I’m sorry, Fushimi-kun.”

What? Why? My face scrunches as I give him a questioning stare. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I shouldn’t have taken you in there. I should have just had you wait out here. It was unfair of me to take you into that room with those photos out in the open like that. I apologize.”

When I meet his gaze, I see the regret burning in his eyes. That wasn’t your fault. Jesus, don’t get your panties in a twist about it. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. I would have seen all of those photos at one point or another. Your Captain, your whole team, wants information from me. Even you do, right?”

The question makes him uncomfortable. It is all too apparent by the way he starts to fidget. The sight of it makes me want to laugh. “Listen, Fushimi-kun. You are our only lead right now. We need you.”

“What are you talking about? You captured others--”

“Yes, we did. No one else survived. The crew we captured were murdered in lock-up and the others we took to the hospital were too weak. Most of them died before we even made it to the hospital.”

You’re joking, right?  _ All of them _ ? How is that even possible?!

“Ah! There you are!” I turn away from Zenjou and look at the man standing in the doorway. The Captain and his smirking face look just as pretentious and arrogant as last time. Merely looking at him makes me want to step closer to Zenjou. Your attitude and demeanor is too close to Nagare’s for my comfort. “Fushimi-kun, please go take a seat by my desk. Detective, if you don’t mind, I have a couple people from HOMRA coming by. Fushimi-kun will be staying with them for a while. Could you please go escort them into the building?”

The taller man dips his head, acquiescing “Of course, Sir. Fushimi-kun, I’ll be back shortly.”

I do not have a chance to object. Zenjou turns away and is gone. Uhh...do I get a say in all of this? I am not really comfortable being alone with this man. Nor am I comfortable going and staying with a bunch of people I do not know. The Captain approaches me. “Go on, go take a seat.” I obey him, if only to keep him from pestering me. He seems the type to do so.

I take a seat in the chair on the opposite side of his desk and hold the two photos face down in my lap. Let’s get this over with. The Captain goes around to the other side of the desk and sits down in his chair. The moment he is seated, I ask him, “What do you want to know?" Let’s just get right down to it and get this over with.

An eyebrow shoots up into his hairline, the smirk never leaving his lips. “You are so much more forthright than last time. What did my detective do to bring about this change?” He grasps his chin with his thumb and forefinger, scratching gently in consideration. The image makes me want to rub my face in exasperation.

“He didn’t do anything. He has just proven to me that is isn’t a complete and total asshole. All I want is to get this conversation over with.” And that is the God honest truth.

“You do realize that this is not a one time conversation, correct? Your life is about to change, Fushimi-kun. You are not going back to that man. You and I are going to work together to bring Nagare to justice.”

I cannot help myself. I chuckle, and then laugh. My lips twist, sneering with a contemptuous bitterness that I am unable to hide. “You honestly believe that? Even after the multiple assassination attempts? By the time you capture him, I will either be dead, or I will be back with Nagare.”

His expression shifts. The look in his eyes is deadly, almost cold. I want to shudder, but I resist the urge. The persona he exudes is cheerful and smug--seemingly harmless. But the core underneath is dangerous, pernicious even. I need to be cautious when dealing with this man. “Yes," he replies, "I have heard that you are very obstinately stuck on the idea that your stay here is temporary. That thought is ridiculous; however, that is a discussion for another time. We have a lot more important topics that we need to cover today. I want to know everything.”

I groan. “What is it with you people? Do you have an actual question, or am I supposed to just guess what information you want?”

“Alright," he says, the tone almost insultingly indulgent. "I’ll just start asking questions right away then. When you were first taken by Nagare, you lived with the family. What was the house like? What was the neighborhood like? Do you remember those times?”

“Tsch. Of course I do. We lived in a mansion with three floors. There wasn’t a neighborhood because the mansion was situated on two dozen acres. The garden was the size of a small house. My bedroom had its own lounge. Everyone’s did.”

“Very interesting. Besides Yukari, Nagare, and Iwa, was there anyone else who lived in the house with you?”

“Just Gojou and his nursemaid.”

Settling in, the Captain rests his elbows on the table and steeples his fingers together. “And who is Gojou?”

My eyebrows lift, questioning. You really don’t know? “Gojou is Nagare’s brother. He was only an infant at the time I was taken.”

“Nagare has a brother? Biological? Adopted?”

“Half brother. His father slept around a lot.”

“Did you ever meet his father?”

Thank fuck no. From the stories Yukari told me, I don’t think Nagare’s father would have waited for me to hit the double digits--he felt entitled to take anyone he wanted, particularly anyone who was new and  _ unsullied _ . In fact, Nagare very specifically waited to find a “personal companion” until after his father’s death. I got the impression from Yukari’s stories that Nagare’s father liked his partners young _...very young _ . “No, he passed away shortly after Gojou’s birth. Or at least that’s what I have been told.”

“And how did Yukari and Iwa end up with the organization?”

You are starting to trend on some precarious ground there. What I just told you is quite damning already. The only thing shielding me at the moment is the secrecy of Gojou’s birth. That boy has not once stepped foot outside of Nagare’s world. His mother was a whore and his birth was undocumented. He has never attended public school and certainly has never been seen by a licensed medical professional. Yukari and Iwa on the other hand, they had lives before Nagare, short though they may have been. “I am not sure it is wise to tell you that.”

“And why not?”

“Because if I give you any usable intel and Nagare finds out, I will be severely punished.”

“We’ve already discussed this briefly, but you aren’t--”

“Stop.” I am so tired. I am so tired of this bullshit. “Let me be completely honest here. I don’t trust that you can protect me. I have very little faith in you or your team because I know what Nagare is capable of. I would very much like to stop repeating myself on this, because it is getting tiresome.”

“I can understand why you would feel that way. But I promise you that we can provide you with adequate protection. However, as I said before, that is a discussion for another time. Now, regarding Yukari and Iwa, if you are unwilling to talk about them, we will move onto a different topic.”

I look away from him and start scanning the room. You are starting to lose my interest. The walls are devoid of any decoration, making the whole space feel cold and empty. The only area that actually has any sort of life or personality to it is his desk. Sitting atop his desk are some funky pens and an extremely odd, ninja themed day calendar. In addition, there are 6 or 7 nicely framed photos on his desk. The first few pictures are of his co-workers, everyone similarly attired in matching uniforms and bulletproof vests.

I turn my attention to the final three frames. Now  _ those _ photos are far more intriguing. In each of three frames, there is one common denominator: a muscular red-haired man. The man is tall and lean, his hair a wild mane that doesn't seem to sit nicely no matter what he does with it. His wild appearance is the polar opposite to the man sitting across from me. Which begs the question, who is he? The first photo is a simple shot taken from behind. The second photo, and the biggest of the three, is one of the two of them standing side by side. The Captain’s eyes are glued on the other man whose lips are turned upwards in a small smile. He may not be looking at the Captain, but it is apparent from his expression that he can feel the other’s gaze and the fingertips brushing his back. How oddly intimate. I wonder if he realizes how blatantly obvious it is that the two of them are together?

The final photo exudes slightly less sexual tension than the previous one, owing, I am sure, to the additional person standing in between them. The boy is short, the hair that is sticking out from beneath his baseball cap nothing more than frayed auburn mop. Perhaps he is the boyfriend’s younger brother? They do have a similar look about them. But even if that is so, there are still some stark differences between the three of them. The tiny grin of the red haired man and that damned ostentatious smirk of the Captain's, seem almost cynical and harsh when compared to that smiling kid; there doesn't seem to be a single worry or concern weighing down on him. His grin practically swallows his face, leaving no room for a single frown line or wrinkle. That warm smile and those bright eyes...It is so peculiar. I don’t know him. And yet...there is something so  _ familiar _ about him. Perhaps he looks similar to a former whore? I have seen so many faces come and go for Nagare's videos that specifics tend to blur. Their visages are nothing more than a jumbled mess of broken smiles and screaming faces, blended together into one big mish-mash of unrecognizable features and bodies.

“Fushimi-kun, did you hear me?”

Hmm, what? I look up at him. Did you say something? “No, I didn’t. I was looking at the photos on your desk. Lover, boyfriend, husband, or fuck buddy?” I run through the possible list and point at the photos of the red-haired man.

The Captain smiles permissively. “Who’s to say he isn’t merely a friend of mine?”

I cannot help snorting. “Oh please. You are barely restraining yourself from pouncing him in that middle picture.”

The smile doesn’t waver. “Mmm, perhaps. Listen, I’ll make a deal with you, Fushimi-kun.”

“Fushimi.” Can you please stop calling me that? It sounds off-putting and presumptuous coming out of your mouth.

“Fushimi-kun,” he replies, utterly ignoring me as per usual, “I need more information from you, and so far you have been fairly uncooperative. So how about this? I will answer some of your questions. Ask me whatever you want. Ask me about the man in the photos, ask me about the people in my squad, ask me about what intel we know, ask me anything you want. And I will answer whatever questions you want to ask. In exchange, I will ask you some questions and you will provide me with some intel that I need. Does that seem fair to you?”

“Alright, fine. Deal.” I do not promise that I will not tell outright lies if I need to. But there is certainly no reason for me to tell you that.

“Good. Go ahead. What would you like to know?”

You’re actually allowing me to go first? Really? You are trying to lower my defenses. Surely you are smart enough to recognize that I know this. And yet...I cannot deny that I am really curious. “Who is the man in the photos?”

“Suoh Mikoto.”

I narrow my eyes and glare at him. Asshole. “That’s not what I meant.”

He opens up his hands, mocking me. “Why don’t you try being a bit more specific?”

Turning my own remarks back on me. Clever. “Who is Suoh Mikoto? What does he do? What is his relationship to you and your team?”

“Ah, now there’s a better question. ‘Partner’ is the word you were looking for earlier.” Wait what?  _ Oh _ . Gotcha. “He was a cop. He originally worked with the narcotics unit, but he left the police force several years ago and started an organization called ‘HOMRA’ with his cousin Anna, and a man named Kusanagi Izumo. Their organization works with youth and young adults to help them transition from gang life back to normal society. You will be meeting Anna and Kusanagi fairly soon actually.”

Hold on here. The same ‘HOMRA’ you told Zenjou I was staying with? So you are going to send me to a house where I will be bunking with a bunch of gang dropouts? Call me cynical, but I have my doubts about the wisdom of that decision. The moment those kids find out what my background is, do you really think they won’t be demanding some freebies from the resident whore?

“You don’t seem happy about that.”

Am I really that easy to read? Either that, or you are unnaturally perceptive. “Given my background, do you really feel that is the best...” What’s the right word here? “Environment? I can hold my own, but there are certainly limits to my abilities.”

There is a flash of surprise in his eyes. “You’re afraid of being raped even though you will be under direct supervision?”

“Of course! What do you think a bunch of idiotic gangster kids are going to do when they find out I’ve spent the past decade sucking cock for a living?” I rub my eyes under the glasses and readjust the lenses. You are absolutely exhausting. Utterly exhausting. Simply closing my eyes and taking a nap right now is very tempting.

“Fushimi-kun--”

“Fushimi.”

“I know this is difficult for you believe, but I would never put you into an environment where I did not have 100% confidence in your safety.” A knock on the door halts my retort. “Come in!" Are we not going to finish the conversation then?

Zenjou opens the door and steps in. As ridiculous as it is, the tenseness in my shoulders seems to dissipate just by seeing the older man. Even though he might still be pissed at me, I know that he will protect me, even if it means his life. Although I am not particularly thrilled with that concept, it does make me feel a hell of a lot safer. Once through the doorway, Zenjou steps to the side and allows three people to come in behind him before shutting the door: a very tiny, petite woman, a tall blond man, and a shortie who I am safely assuming is one of the gangster youth. With that ugly skater outfit, he isn't suited to much else.  _ Wait a second _ . Isn’t that the same kid from the photo on the Captain's desk? I think it is. Dear God, Captain. Buy the kid some better clothing for fuck’s sake. He looks like he’s fifteen.

Zenjou bows and says, “Captain, do you need anything else? Would you like me to go?” Is Zenjou  _ leaving _ ?

“Not just yet. I think Fushimi-kun would be more comfortable if you stayed for a while.” Captain, you may be the most astute person I have ever met. It is vaguely horrifying how on point you are.

My bodyguard nods and comes over to stand next to my chair without another word. It is difficult to tell whether he is still angry, or if this is simply how he acts around the Captain. Either way, I don’t give a shit. He’s here and that’s enough. The Captain clears his throat. “Fushimi-kun--”

“Fushimi.” Damn it, you’re obstinate.

“This is Anna. She is Mikoto’s cousin and a mental health therapist. While you are staying at HOMRA, I would like you to start seeing Anna every day. I would prefer it if you went willingly, but let me make it very clear. You are going to go.”

“Is that so?” I reply, flatly. “What else shall I be doing during my stay which we have not yet discussed?”

“It is very nice to meet you, Fushimi-san,” Anna comments. Her voice is so demure and gentle, it borders on the obscene. How do you handle being around all of these giants all day long? Are you sure this woman is old enough to have a college degree? She doesn't look like she's even hit the 16 year mark. “I look forward to working with you.” She smiles at me, the look gentle, empathetic. It makes me want to recoil. I don’t want your pity and I most definitely do not desire your kindness in any way.

“The man to the left there is Kusanagi-san.”

“Yo.” The blond pushes the pair of sunglasses he’s wearing up to the top of his head. “Nice to meet you.” The look he gives me is expectant. I think he is waiting for a reply.

“It’s nice to meet you both,” I reply dully. I suppose some simple common courtesy can't hurt. No need to make the both of them hate me with no provocation.

“And that there is Yata-san,” the Captain says. The skater lifts a hand and nods. “Yata and Kusanagi will be your escorts for the next few days so that Zenjou can go home and get some rest.”

_ Yata _ . Why does that name sound so familiar? Do I know you from somewhere? It is not just your name. Your face and your eyes. I don’t know where I possibly could have seen you before, let alone met you...“Kusanagi-san, Yata-san, I’d like to introduce Fushimi Saruhiko. I trust that you two have mapped out the transportation route?”

Kusanagi responds, “Yes, we confirmed the logistics last night. Everything should be all set.”

“Alright, well, Fushimi-kun and I still have some matters to discuss, so I hope you don’t mind if I have you three wait next door for a while.”

“Wait!” Yata finally makes his voice heard. It is much deeper than I was expecting. The clothing and the height detract from your age tremendously. But from the sound of your voice and the look of your face, you have to be at least as old as I am. “Did you say, ' _ Fushimi Saruhiko’ _ ?” His eyes are wide when he says it, the look bordering on deranged. “I c-can’t believe it. This is impossible.” His eyes frantically fly back and forth between me and the Captain, the look shifting from crazed shock to angry induction. Every emotion he emits is unmistakable. He doesn’t hide it or temper it. Everything he is thinking and feeling is right there for the world to see. “Why the fuck didn’t you say something?!” He takes a step towards the desk. “I knew I recognized you. I knew it! Reisi you fucking asshole! You knew this whole time didn’t you?!”

What the hell is wrong with you? I can't help myself--I push myself off the chair and turn to fully face him, the two photos drifting from my hands, forgotten. I do _not_ want you at my back. “What the hell are you blathering on about, you idiot?” Although the word choice is not the greatest, I manage to ease down the tone, sounding as calm and detached as possible. Hopefully the tone will settle him down and avoid inciting him further.

When he turns to face me, I reel backwards and nearly stumble into Zenjou. What the fuck?! Are you  _ crying _ ?! “Saru? Don’t you remember me?”

My brain stops working. “What did you just call me?” I whisper. No one calls me that.  _ Not ever _ . The two people who were allowed to call me by that name are long dead and buried. “If you call me that again, I will kill you,” I breath.

My brain is on fire. My skin is tingling. It feels as though every attempted thought is short circuiting.

“What?” He scrubs at the tears on his face and then drops his hand. “Saru? It’s Misaki. Don’t you remember me?”

‘ _ Your friend is dead. He’s gone. He can’t come over because he’s dead and when someone dies they cannot come back. Do you understand, Saruhiko?’ _

Yes, I understand. I understand, Nagare. He’s dead. He’s  _ dead _ .

_ ‘I’m here, Saruhiko. It’s okay. I’m here now.’  _ That’s right. I have Nagare now. He won’t ever leave me. No matter what my desires are, Nagare will forever be my shadow.

“Misaki,” the tiny woman murmurs, “please calm down. You're upsetting him."

He quickly glances at her. “But I can’t be wrong!” His eyes meet mine from across the room. Don’t look at me like that. “Saru--”

“ _ Don’t _ . Call me that,” I whisper again.

“It’s really me! It’s Misaki! It’s Misa-chan! Please tell me you remember!”

“ _Lies_ ,” I hiss. My ears are starting to ring. 

He reaches a hand out towards me, as though he would touch me if he could. “Saru--”

“SHUT UP!” My vision dims as my brain finally kicks back on, the thoughts tumbling over themselves in their attempt to escape. I don’t know how you people found out about this. I don’t know how you found out about... _ him _ . But how  _ dare  _ you use that to try and manipulate me! You would honestly stage some sort of faux reunion with the only person from my childhood who ever gave a shit about me? Did you really think you could get away with this? My chest heaves, my whole body twitching and shaking. Every part of me tingles and burns. I wish I could crawl out of my skin and bury myself, bury myself so deep that I cannot climb back out again. At least then I would be alone.

“Fushimi-kun--” A hand lands on my shoulder. Get the  _ fuck _ off of me! I thrash, shoving the hand off.

“You people are fucking detestable!" I scream to the whole room. "Why would you do this?! I’d rather be back with Nagare being fucked bloody fucking raw! It would hurt less than this!”

_ ‘Your friend is dead. He’s gone.’ _

The person standing in front of me does not move. He keeps on looking at me with that same _stupid_ expression, never once losing eye contact. I just want him to stop. Misa-chan is dead. He’s dead! GO AWAY! Just get the hell away from me! I can hear myself screaming. I can see myself lunge, my hands reaching for the throat of the man who would dare claim to know me. But there is nothing I can do to stop it. Everything feels like it’s floating, as if I were watching the whole scene from outside my own body. My movements are no longer my own. I can hear the sounds of the other men yelling. I can hear the sounds of objects crashing. And then, in an instant, the sounds fade away and there is nothingness, just an empty, black nothingness that swallows everything whole and turns it all to silence.


	11. The Other Side Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, there are A LOT of other things that are supposed to happen in this chapter. It's just taking a long time to write ಥ_ಥ The chapters are getting progressively longer, and therefore are taking longer to write...Sorry!! I really hope you enjoy part 1 though!!

_ ‘Restrain him!’ _

_ ‘What the hell do you think I’m doing?!’ _

_ ‘Captain, get out of the way! You’re going to get hurt!’ _

_ ‘Damn it!’ _

_ Too many voices. Bright images rushing by, bursting across my vision. A body falls atop me, strong hands gripping my forearms and pinning them to the floor, their pelvis pressing down into mine. NO!  _

_ 'STOP IT! Please don’t!’ _

_ Barren walls, a barren room, and a dirt smeared grey ceiling hanging above me. ‘Saruhiko.’ I hear Nagare’s voice breathing in my ear. ‘Open your legs for me.’ I am a boy again and there he is, hovering over me, his eyes glowing, his lips twisted, the leer consuming his face. ‘That’s it. Good boy. You’re all mine--my beautiful darling, Saruhiko.’ The pain is excruciating--my butt, my legs, my back, everything is raging like a blistering fire. It hurts so bad I wish I could just disappear. Why Nii-chan? Why are you doing this to me? Please stop hurting me. I love you. ‘All of this, just for me.’ A hand shoves my leg upwards and down, pushing it hard into the bed and allowing for a deeper angle. I buck hard against the pressure, my mouth gaping open on shriek of agony. ‘That’s it, scream for me.’ _

_ ‘Fushimi-kun! Look at me!  _ Look at me _!’ There is a flash of red glasses and amber eyes. ‘You’re safe. It’s okay. Stop fighting.’  _

_ I don’t understand! Who are you? Why aren’t you making Nii-chan stop?! _

_ I can hear the keening sound, feel it spilling out of me. ‘I’ll be good,’ I sob. ‘Just stop hurting me, Nii-chan. Please stop.’ The weight above me lifts away and I instinctively roll to my side. Vomit immediately pushes its way up my throat, causing me to retch what feels like my entire insides. When it stops, I collapse on the floor and cry. I wish the pain would end. Every part of me hurts so much. It’s hurts, Nii-chan. Please help me. Please take it away. _

_ ‘Shh, it’s okay, Fushimi-kun,’ a gentle voice whispers to me. ‘You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you here. It’s alright.’ _

_ A female voice drifts through my brain, but the words don’t make sense. ‘No, don’t touch him. It might start the whole thing over.  _ No _ , Misaki. Stop. Don’t come closer. Stay there.’ _

_ ‘But--’ _

_ ‘You’re a trigger. Please stay over there.’ _

_ ‘What the hell does that even mean?! What’s a ‘trigger’?! What is going on? He needs help!’ _

_ ‘You are very kind, Misaki., but you cannot help here. If you come close again you will make it worse.’ _

_ ‘It’s okay, Fushimi-kun.’ I hear that same voice again. It seems so kind. I blindly reach a hand towards the sound. Will you help me? A warm hand envelopes mine. ‘It’s okay. You can rest now. Shh, it’s okay.’ _

_ The tears slow and all I want to do is sleep. Pulling the hand closer to me, I curl myself around it. The smaller I am, the easier it will be to go unseen and simply vanish. ‘Nii-chan,’ I mumble, ‘everything hurts. Can I please sleep now? I promise I’ll do better. I promise.’ _

_ ‘You were such a good boy, Saruhiko,’ Nii-chan murmurs in my ear. His lips graze my cheek in a ghost of kiss. ‘Go to sleep now. There will be a surprise waiting for you when you wake up.’ _

_ A present? I must have been a good boy indeed. _

~

Everything is foggy. I crack open my eyes, which feel crusty and sticky. Ugh. What have I been doing? Where the hell am I? I push myself up, shaking my head from side to side. Why is everything so hazy? I can’t focus. Once I’m sitting, I rub vigorously at my eyes. Fuck, I feel like rotten shit. Even my mouth tastes like dried blood and vomit. Did I get sick? Glancing to my right, I find a small plastic table, my glasses nicely folded on top. Grabbing the lenses, I put the glasses on, pushing them up my nose. There we are. Much better. I take a look around the small room, and find that besides the small cot I’m on and the side table next to it, the room is empty of everything, save for one solitary man sleeping in a chair by the door. That looks incredibly uncomfortable. Weren’t you supposed to go home? Wasn’t I being sent somewhere  _ specifically _ so you could rest?

_ Jesus fucking Christ!  _ That stupid fucking piece of shit skater kid! That’s right. I was lunging for that guy’s throat. If I’m here, than the result is undeniable--I lost the fight. He must have laid a good one on me, because I can’t remember for the life of me what the hell happened. That small body of his holds a lot more skill and agility than I anticipated. In either case, I don’t give a damn about who he is or what his sad, pathetic, pity-invoking backstory is. All I care about is what role he played in yesterday’s meeting. I need to find out who the  _ fuck _ thought that this charade was a good idea.

Once I find out who it is, I’ll kill them. I don’t care what I have to do. Bare hands wrapped around their throat, pressing my fingertips into the sinewy cartilage until I feel it cave, their breathing stuttering and stopping. A gun swiped from an officer’s waist, the cold barrel of the gun pressed to the spot right behind the heart muscle, ensuring that bleeding, beating piece of flesh explodes and coats the floor. A stolen knife, shoved deep into their stomach, twisting, bits ripping out as I yank the metal through the skin. Give me the chance and I’ll even gift them with a parting kiss for all their hard effort in bringing together this masterful display. And while I do, I’ll bite down and tear off the tip of their tongue, allowing the flesh and the overflow of blood to drip down their throat and choke them. What a beautiful sight that would make.

The idea twists the pit of my stomach. I would love every moment of it: the  _ control  _ and the  _ power _ . All the things I must offer up to Nagare without hesitation...all of it would be mine, even if was only for a few precious moments. Unfortunately for you, those few minutes would seem like an eternity. As you lay there gasping, struggling to overcome the deluge of fear and torment, perhaps then you’d understand my life and why what you have done is reprehensible.

_ But _ .

_ But--I should know better _ . If I did any of those things, I would in full consciousness be inflicting the same exact anguish upon you that Nagare does to me. Then I truly would be the lowest kind of scum. The worst part of it all? I almost don’t care.  _ Almost _ . But does my minute hesitation truly make me a decent person? Perhaps I am just as horrid and detestable as Nagare and the rest of them. Just because I don’t act on the thoughts doesn’t mean they aren’t there. Can I really hold myself higher than you, Nagare?

No, I cannot.

Nevertheless, at least I have the self-awareness to recognize my own baseness. There are many here on the outside who clearly missed that lesson as a child; either that, or they are willfully ignorant of their own faults. That includes you, skater boy. Barring my demented wish to see you shackled and hung, I do actually need to find you for sensible reasons. I doubt you planned any of this. You don’t seem particularly clever. With all the ruckus you made, you are either an incredibly talented actor, or someone gave you very clear, explicit instructions on what needed to be said and done. I am  _ very _ much inclined to believe the later. As for who possibly could have organized this, I have absolutely no idea. There are too many unknowns.

Out of the officers, the only three who I actually remember are the Lieutenant, Zenjou, and the Captain. The Lieutenant is far too direct to try something so underhanded. As for Zenjou, he’s too honest. Of all the people I know, he is probably the worst liar among them. He’s the type of man who would struggle lying about the color of his own damn socks. Now the Captain on the other hand...I don’t have any doubts that he would participate, perhaps even orchestrate, something so heinous. There isn’t a single word that comes out of his mouth that I trust. Nevertheless, even I can admit that I might be unduly wary. I don’t truly know him. And honestly, my mistrust could purely be due to the fact that he annoys the ever loving shit out of me.

I climb off the cot, which emits a long, loud squeal at the movement. Shit that was loud. I look over at Zenjou. Aanndd he’s awake. One of his eyes has opened, but the rest of his body hasn’t moved. I could almost ignore him and pretend he’s still sleeping; I could, if that one eye of his wasn’t fixated on me. He may look like he’s been mauled by a wild animal, but mentally he is  _ wide awake _ . “And where are you off to?” he murmurs.

“Ummm, out? Where should I be going?”

Both of his eyes are open now, barely squinting at me. Your brain may be working, but your body is ready to keel over, Zenjou. Go home. He replies with the quiet question, “Are you asking because you actually want to know, or are you trying to be facetious?”

“I honestly want to know the answer. What is going on? What happened? Where are we?” The questions tumble over each other so quickly, I have to stop myself from asking anything more. I snap my mouth closed and wait for the response.

“Well,” Zenjou replies. He pauses, slowly sitting up from his slouched position so he can roll his neck around. Afterwards, he leans forward and rests his elbow on his knee, looking haggard and dare I say it,  _ old _ , so much so that it’s concerning. For the first time since I have met him, his facial scar is noticeable, standing out like a dark, sullied smear across his cheeks, emphasizing the age lines creasing his face. What the fuck happened while I was unconscious? “This room was actually a storage room 24 hours ago. We brought in the cot and the stand so we could monitor you and keep you sequestered from the rest of the staff.”

“Why the hell would you need to do that? Wasn’t I supposed to be moved out of the station?”

He meets my gaze, looking so worn and serious. I instinctively tense. “Fushimi-kun, what is the last thing you remember?”

What a peculiar question. “The last thing I remember is trying to attack that fucking dick skater boy, who was pretending to be M--” I choke on the name.  _ Fuck. _ “Which, speaking of, where is he? I have unfinished business with that asshole.”

Zenjou sighs. “That’s not going to happen. We had to restrain you to protect him. When we did so, it triggered flash back.”

“A flash-back?” What the hell are you talking about?

He doesn’t look away. “When we restrained you, you panicked. You thought Nagare was attacking you. You were calling him ‘Nii-chan’.”

Oh dear Lord. What deities could possibly be this malicious? Why are you fucking around with my life like this? Are you amused? Have I sufficiently entertained you yet? First, I lose control of my body in an attempt to  _ murder _ someone, only to then have a legitimate, full-on mental breakdown. Even worse, I was calling Nagare  _ ‘Nii-chan’ _ ?

“I haven’t called Nagare that since I was fourteen,” I whisper. How  _ humiliating _ . My legs wobble unexpectedly, which forces me to sit back down on the cot to steady myself. “What else?” I murmur. “What else did I say?”  _ Shit _ , this is bad.

“Fushimi-kun,” he sighs. Sitting back up, he straightens, rubbing his eyes under the glasses. “Nothing you said was revealing if that’s what you’re worried about. You were asking him to stop and telling him you’d do better.” He stops talking and takes a deep breath before continuing. “To be honest, I don’t want to discuss it. It was... _ difficult _ .”

I lean forward and drop my head into my hands. This is awful. No wonder I feel like shit. I dig my fingertips into my forehead and massage at the pain cutting into my skull. The mere idea of all of you watching me struggle, calling out for my brother--it is absolutely mortifying. My stomach spasms several times, empty and aching. That year was the worst of my life. My body wasn’t ready,  _ I _ wasn’t ready. I was too young to understand what was happening. Loneliness and betrayal--I can’t remember a time when I felt those two emotions more intensely. First Nagare and then Yukari, the both of them hovering about me at all times; I felt like I was drowning in them. They  _ consumed _ me.

“I used to call both Nagare and Yukari ‘Nii-chan’,” I admit quietly. “The first few years they just made me give blow-jobs. It made me,” I search for the right word, “feel  _ wrong _ . I knew it wasn’t right, but I didn’t understand why. But even after they started fucking me, I still called them ‘brother’. I tried to hold onto that illusion for as long as I could.” I bark out a laugh at the thought. The sound is abrasive and unpleasant, even I can hear it. My gullibility at that age was astounding.  _ ‘Family’ _ . How hilariously ludicrous. “But acid burns through everything.”

“I’m sorry.”

My head rises and I look at my companion from across the small space. “What the hell are you apologizing for?” I mutter. “None of that had anything to do with you.”

His eyes shift, moving to look down at the floor. Hey now! You don’t get to look away! Not after everything I just told you! “I am trying to understand you and why you react the way you do. I am trying to learn more about you so I can  _ understand _ , so I can actually  _ help  _ you. I’m not a therapist. I don’t have the tools. All I know is what I can see with my own eyes. I haven’t done a very good job of protecting you so far.”

The words are crazy. You are fucking insane, did you know? “And how--please tell me, I am dying to hear this--are you supposed to understand everything there is to know about my situation and what goes through my head? I have been locked up for over 10  _ years _ . Do you realize how  _ long _ that is? We are talking about a span of time that covers over  _ half  _ of the life I have lived thus far. How is it that you were planning on figuring me out in less than a week? You didn’t even know who I was until that cameraman opened the door to my apartment. If he hadn’t, you would have continued on with your life and never known. No one would have.”

A sigh rushes out of him. “No, probably not. But it is my job to protect you. How can I do that if I cannot understand the basic aspects that make you who you are? It is not my job to make sure you don’t die; it is my job to keep you from being harmed, even if the person harming you is yourself.” His bloodshot eyes rise from the floor, unwavering. “You understand, don’t you?”

Unfortunately, I do. “Yes.”

A soft knock draws my attention to the doorway. It opens to reveal a tiny woman, holding onto a thick leather bound book. To her right is the Captain. He is smirking, as per usual, but there is a tightness around his eyes that I have never seen before. That's unusual. “Ah, Fushimi-kun, finally awake?”

I narrow my eyes. Get the fuck out. “Fushimi,” I snap. There is no part of me that desires to have a conversation with you. As far as I am concerned, you are only good for one thing right now. “Where is that kid? I don’t know who he is, or what you thought you’d accomplish by hashing up my past, but I swear to you--I don’t know how--but I will kill him.”

“Mmm, I see.” Your derisive tone is not appreciated. “It is a very good thing that I had him stay in my office then.” He glances down at Zenjou. “Zenjou, go home. He is okay. You have done more than enough.”

“But what if he has another,” the older man can’t help glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. Just say it. He finally settles on, “Episode?”

The young woman smiles as she steps over to him and pats him on the shoulder. “It’s okay,” she murmurs. “He’ll be alright. I’ll be here the whole time, so please don't worry."

“She’s right. You need to go home and sleep. Do not make me order you,” the Captain states without a moment's pause.

Listen to the man. I’ll be the first to admit that you leaving does not bring me any comfort; however, if I say anything to suggest that sentiment, you won’t go. And right now, frankly, I would rather have you go and sleep than selfishly keep you here until you pass out from exhaustion. “I’ll be okay,” I finally say. If this lie is the only way to get you out of here, then so be it. “I’ll be safer if you rest. If you stay here, then you’ll be putting me in more danger. Wouldn’t you agree?”

It clearly doesn’t matter how calm or direct I am; he is already starting to learn how to read through my words. His lips twist, the smile dull and unconvincing. “I know you’re lying,” he responds. “You’re uncomfortable; you don’t like, let alone trust the Captain. And you don’t know who this woman is, which is probably only increasing your discomfort.”

“Oi,” the Captain murmurs, “that’s not very nice.”

“It’s obvious, “ he continues. “The moment they entered the room you flinched.”

I resist the urge to pull backwards. The movement would only lend legitimacy to your words. You’re right. Of course, you’re right. But I’m done accepting your martyrdom in order to simply appease my discomfort. I have dealt with far worse than this. “I know,” I say back to him. “I won’t lie and say you aren’t right; nevertheless, my comfort isn’t important right now. My safety is. Dealing with that pompous prick for a day won’t kill me.” I hear another indignant huff from the doorway. It is a hard won fight not to roll my eyes. Maybe if you weren’t so insistent on being the most obnoxious person on the damn planet, I wouldn't say these things about you, Captain. Stop pushing my buttons and maybe I’ll like you more. “But if you take a bullet to the head because you’re too tired to react quick enough...that  _ will _ kill me.” And more that just physically. 

The thought of you dying in my stead is petrifying. I am not worth it. You don’t deserve that. I meant every word I said to you when you were shielding me from that sniper. I do not want anyone else dying because of me. You would just be one more casualty among a long list of people who have lost their lives because of me. Do  _ not _ make me watch you die. I turn a glare on him. “If you refuse to leave and get hurt because of me, I will never forgive you. I will hunt you down and kill you myself.”

His lips twist upwards in a small smile. The look in his eyes in one I don’t recognize. My stomach clenches and I have to reign in the urge to wring my fingers together. Stop looking at me like that. “Heh,” Zenjou breathes. “Alright. I’ll go.” He turns his eyes on the Captain, the warm look in them diminishing. He pushes himself up and turns to stand in front of the two in the doorway. He bows his head at the Captain and says, “Thank you, I will be heading home. If you don’t call, I’ll be back tomorrow at eight.”

“Noon.”

“Eight.”

The Captain chuckles. “Do not come in until noon. If you do I will send you back home for a mandatory vacation day.”

The older man clenches his hand, very obviously forcing out the words, “Yes, Captain.”

The two people in the doorway step off to the side, allowing Zenjou to pass. He glances back at me once and then is gone. Fuck. Me.

“Fushimi-san,” the woman says, taking a seat in the vacated chair. “I don’t know if you remember me. My name is Anna.” She places her book on her lap.

“How old are you?” I can’t help the question slipping out. Seriously, you are too young to be here. You’re what, 4’11” at most? 

The smile that spreads across her cheeks only adds to her youthful appearance. “I’m twenty-two.”

“I’m sure you know what I’m going to ask now.” My eyebrow cocks upwards. “How is that you are a practicing therapist?”

The Captain cuts in. “She went to college at the age of twelve and graduated with her Master’s at the age of seventeen.”

_ Great _ . So you have an IQ of what? 130? 150? Nagare has an insanely high IQ as well. People like you are dangerous. Glancing at the Captain, she shakes her head. “My circumstances were a bit different than your average student. Now Reisi, could you please give Fushimi-san and I a few moments?”

“Alright,” he murmurs. “Call me if you need anything. I have some business to take care of, and then I’ll return.” His eyes meet mine for only a second. “Fushimi-kun.”

“ _ Fushimi _ ,” I mutter as he turns his back on me and shuts the door. Obstinate prick. Those words are starting to become a mantra with you, aren’t they? Moving my attention back to Anna, I continue, “So, what do you want? I have never spoken with a therapist before.”

Her smile is gentle, whether compassionate or pitying I can’t say for certain. “I don’t want you to think of this as therapy. I am not trying to make you better. I am simply here to talk.”

“I am not really the talking type,” I reply. “Not that you don’t seem like a kind person…”

When she laughs the sound is soft, almost lyrical. The sound instinctively makes me want to relax, but I resist the urge. I cannot let my defenses down, not even around you. “Why don’t we start with a few simple questions. Do you know how old you are? I understand that you were living in an apartment. Were you allowed hobbies? What interests you?”

“Uhh, yes.” What weird ass questions are these? “I’m nineteen. I have my own apartment, yes. I spend most of my free time studying. Iwa-san teaches Gojou and I most every day, except when he is called away on business for Nagare.”

“So you have classes then? What subjects do you study? Are they any in particular that interest you?”

“Yes, Iwa-san has been home-schooling me since Nagare bought me. I like physics and chemistry and mathematics. Although, Iwa-san was recently scolded for ignoring particular subjects in order to teach me topics I enjoy. As soon as I get home, we’ll be picking up literature. Not my favorite, certainly, but Nagare insists that my education be well rounded.”

“Does Iwa-san do everything that Nagare tells him?”

“Of course.” Why the hell are you asking me that? “Nagare is the boss. He always has been. Iwa-san followed his father and now he follows Nagare. He is very loyal.” Even at the cost of his own consciousness. He seems like a decent person--on the outside. He has never once participated in a video, let alone touched a slave. He has always cared for my wounds in the most gentle and kind way possible. And yet, his  _ eyes _ . There has always been an... _ off _ look in them. The closest emotion relatable would probably be self-loathing. He adores Nagare, treats him as though Nagare is his own son. But what I don’t understand, what I will probably never understand, is whether Iwa-san hates himself for loving what Nagare does, or for allowing Nagare to continue doing what he does. A never-ending conundrum that is…

“And how about you? What is your relationship with Nagare like?”

I look at her, her rosy cheeks, her pale hair, and her large eyes--there is a sharpness in her gaze, a cleverness I did not notice before. It is not her question, but that look that makes my muscles tense. I narrow my eyes. You won’t get me that easily. “Nagare is my master. He tells me what to do, and I obey. When I don’t listen to him, I get punished. He controls all aspects of my life: what I wear, what I eat, what I learn. He tells me how to lay, how to move, what position he is going to fuck me in and how he is going to fuck me.”

The words are crass and I meant every one of them.  _ However _ , she isn’t exactly reacting quite the way I was expecting her to. Her expression doesn't change when she responds, “That must be hard on you, that lack of control.”

“That’s what life is.”

“What was life like before Nagare?”

“What do you mean?”

She lifts her eyebrows, questioning. “Before you lived with Nagare, what was your life like? Did you have family?”

“I don’t remember.” The words are out before I can stop them. It’s the mantra I have repeated to myself over and over again, so often that I cannot count the times. And it’s not a lie. There are very few things I remember; and what I do remember...makes me want to bleach my brain and forget it all…

“I know that isn’t true.”

I resist the urge to snap at her. You’re just doing your job. “I don’t remember a lot,” I sigh, “and what I do remember is unpleasant. I had a mother and a brother. She died and then he beat me and used me for whatever he wanted. Eventually he took Nagare’s money and gave me away to feed his drug habit. Probably died of an overdose.”

The smile on her face begins to diminish. What exactly was it that you were expecting? A happy upbringing with the classic nuclear family? She meets my eyes and asks, “And what about Misa-chan?”

Wha--my heart stops beating and I struggle to take a breath. You are bold as brass, aren’t you? If you weren’t so tiny, I would punch you, or better yet, slam your head into the nearest wall. “He was my only friend,” I snarl at her. “He died a long time ago, so I would appreciate it if you people  _ stopped _ saying his name.” Every time you say it, I can feel my heart stutter and my chest seize. It makes me want to die all over again.

She gives me a considering look. You need to do more than consider what you want to say. You need to  _ stop _ talking altogether. Is my glare not getting the message across? “Why do you believe that he passed away?”

Are you fucking kidding me? You  _ cannot  _ honestly be asking me that question, right? “The apartment building we lived in burned down. I saw the photos myself.”

Her eyes widen, her lips opening into a large ‘O’. The look is quite comical. Are we done talking about this now? “Fushimi-san,” she says finally, “who told you about this?”

Why the hell would that matter? “Nagare. He brought home the newspaper clipping himself.” That is something I could never forget--the photos of the charred and blackened building or the gut-wrenching horror of knowing he was gone from me forever.

“Fushimi-san, I am not going to sit next to you, but I brought you something to look through.” She pats the book on her lap. What pray-tell is that? “When Mikoto worked for the police, he worked with the drug unit. As a result, he met a lot of boys who were involved with gangs.”

“Wait, let me guess! The kids he met  _ inspired _ him to open up HOMRA, and now he cares for all the poor street kids he couldn’t save before!” The sarcasm drips out of me, a matching sneer pulling at my facial muscles. I don’t need to hear your cousin’s awe-inspiring background.

“Not quite,” she whispers. “Mikoto’s boyfriend at the time was a social worker. He worked with many teenagers involved in local gangs and lost his life because of it. Mikoto took his death very hard. He was repeatedly disciplined for beating up suspects and he nearly killed a boy. Reisi helped him see that there were more effective ways to utilize his anger, but it was saving Misaki that finally brought him around.”

Would you  _ stop  _ saying that name? How many times are you going to repeat it? Are you trying to instigate me? Do you  _ want _ me attack you? “I am positive you and I are not talking about the same person.”

My tone doesn't give her the slightest hesitation. “Misaki had a hard time growing up. He got involved with a gang and used some very destructive drugs. Mikoto and Reisi both sacrificed a lot to help him cut his gang ties.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” I whisper. Please stop this. I don’t want to hear about this skater kid, If you insist on continuing I’m going to have to turn my back on you.

“Because,” she smiles,  _ smiles _ , at me. “Misaki lost many things during those years, but he had one thing that he protected. He would have given his life to save it.” She pats the book on her lap once more. “Do you know what this is, Fushimi-san?”

“No, and I'm not sure that I care to,” I tell her frankly.

Her smiles widens, filling her whole face and making it glow. “It’s a photo album.”

“You’re kidding,” I snort. His most precious possession is a photo album? Does it hold the photos of paradise? Or perhaps, more realistically, carefully collected images of beautiful naked women, meticulously saved from his favorite porno magazines?

“No,” she continues. “They’re photos from his childhood.”  _ Okay _ ? And why is that important? “Would you like to guess who is in these photos?” She pauses, but I do not answer. No, I’m not guessing. “ _ You _ , Fushimi-san. Half of these photos are of  _ you _ .”

Everything goes blank. “That’s impossible,” I murmur. Impossible. Absolutely impossible. My ears are ringing again, my vision flickering.

“Here,” she whispers. I don’t see her move, and yet the book is in my lap. I run my shaking fingertips over the leather, but my fingers won’t work. “The fire Nagare spoke of did happen; but Misaki was not home at the time. When you disappeared, he started carrying the photo album with him. It was the only thing that wasn’t destroyed.”

My hand is shaking so bad I can barely flip it open. I manage to get it open to the second page. There are two photos fixed to the page. The top photo has a man and woman holding each other and smiling. Their faces seem familiar, but I can’t place where. Then I look at the bottom photo. A young, dark haired boy is in the center, a smaller, auburn haired child grasping onto his arm and laughing. The taller of the two is looking down, a soft smile on his face.

No.  _ No _ . It’s not me. It’s  _ not  _ me. I choke. I look at those eyes most every day. I look at that nose and those lips. It’s been over a decade, but even I can recognize that the boy in the photo, is me. I taste the saltiness on my lips. My chest heaves and I feel a sob catch in my throat. I grasp onto the book and drop my head down. Misa-chan? Is this really you? Are you really alive? The photos blur and I can no longer see. Why, Nagare? Why would you do this to me? He was the only thing that mattered to me. He was the only person who  _ I _ mattered to. This hurts too much, Misa-chan. I curl in upon myself as I cry, trying to become as small as possible. Why? Why is this happening? Please turn back time. Let the bullet surpass the cameraman and hit me instead. I can’t do this anymore. I can't.

“Fushimi-san,” I hear her voice, but I don’t look up. “It okay to cry. Nagare didn’t do this to you for no reason. He wanted to isolate you. For him to control you, he had to make sure there was nothing left to tie you to your old life. I know it is hard to understand. It is hard to be objective about someone who you have been with so many years.”

“I know him,” I choke out the words. “I know him better than any of you.” This is exactly the type of thing Nagare would do. He probably loved every second, every tear spilled, every hug as I clung to him. You have no idea. You people are the ones who have made my life worse. Dragging me away from Nagare and then reopening this wound; not just reopening it, but rubbing dirt in it and making it fester. I don’t want to see  _ him _ . I don’t want to see anyone. “Get out.”

“What?”

You are making everything worse! Just leave me alone! I work through the tears and screech at her, “GET OUT!” I suck air into my lungs. “GET OUT! GET OUT!” I don’t want you here! I don’t want to listen to you any more!

“I’m sorry, Fushimi-san,” she whispers. 

I hear the door open and close. When I hear the click, my mouth opens wide and I scream. I scream and I do not stop.

~

“Fushimi-kun?”

“Fushimi,” I mumble instinctively. What do you want? I don’t roll over to look at the Captain. I continue laying on my side, back to the door, the leather book grasped tightly to my chest. I ache all over. My head is pounding. Even my eyeballs feel like they could fall out of my skull. I feel like complete and utter horseshit.

I feel the cot dip and for what seems like the first time in my life, I do not tense. After everything I just heard, I’m not inclined to shy away from him. I simply do not give a damn. “I see you took offense to the chair. I suppose I will have to replace it. And the wall.”

“Fuck you.”

“As much as I would enjoy that, I fortunately already have someone to do that to. But thank you for the invitation.”

“I wouldn’t fuck you if you paid me to!” I snap at him. Urgh! My throat is raw. I shouldn’t be talking, let alone yelling. I suppose that’s what happens when you go on a rampage. How fucking ridiculous is that? That isn’t the type of person I am. Although, apparently it is, since I just laid waste to a metal chair and a plaster wall. What the fuck is wrong with me?

“How unfortunate.”

“What do you want?” I sigh.

“Well,” he muses, “you have two choices. You may come with me to my office, and when you are feeling up to it, I can bring in Kusanagi and Yata-kun to take you to HOMRA as was originally intended.”

“And what’s the other option?”

“Kusanagi and I can monitor you and supervise your meeting with Misaki. And then I will have one of the other officers take you to HOMRA.”

Eyebrows furrowing, I glare at the wall. “Those are exactly the same thing. The only difference is who drives me there.”

“Hmm, is that so? I didn’t realize.”

I snort. Of  _ course _ you didn’t. But given the two choices you gave me...“I would rather the later than the former.” Spending an entire ride in an enclosed space with him? The mere idea makes me sick.

“Alright, are you ready then?”

No, not at all. “Can I brush my teeth? Or shower? I feel disgusting.”

In a surprising turn of events, the Captain starts to chuckle. “I think we can accommodate that. Come on.” He stands up and steps towards the door.

Really? You are giving me permission? “Okay,” I respond. I will take this small courtesy. Sitting up, I get myself up off the cot. I do not let go of the book in my hands--I can’t find it in me to let go.

~

“So any chance you could bring me some clothes from home? These are just--” I stop. How do I say this without sounding  _ exactly  _ like Yukari? “They don’t fit right, and I have an entire wardrobe at the apartment…”

The Captain doesn’t sit down. He motions me towards a chair and I follow the instruction without hesitation. I sit down, keeping the book held tightly in my hands. “Unfortunately, most everything has been bagged up. There isn’t anything to give you.”

A groan forces its way out. “Can’t you just take out a couple outfits from evidence? There isn’t anything to find in my clothing. These clothes you’ve given me don’t fit, and to be honest, they're atrocious. Yukari would strip me naked if he saw me in these.”

“Well,” he states with a smirk, “I am not Yukari. I do not wish to strip you. In fact, I request that you keep your clothing on at all times, as I have no desire to see you naked.”

I can’t help the small smile that pulls at my lips. Heh, that’s a first. You may be the only man alive who hasn’t eye fucked me and imagined me bared and naked. Congratulations. Now about those clothes...“You want to buy me some new clothing then?”

A laugh bursts out of him, a sound that makes me want to grin at him again. I stifle the urge. “I tried. But you did not like what I gave you last time.”

“You didn’t go shopping. If you had actually shopped I wouldn’t be wearing this. You have slightly better fashion sense than this.” A deaf man blindfolded could see that.

“That may be,” he says with another chuckle, “but I’m not buying you new clothing. I have a chair and a wall to pay for now, remember?”

My response is cut off by a knock at the door. The Captain calls out, “Come in!”

No, leave it shut. I’m not ready. Despite my silent entreaty it opens anyways. There are two men standing in the doorway. My fingers twitch reflexively and I have to force myself to remain sitting. There is no hesitation; my eyes meet his from across the room. There is a hardness there, but it is tempered by concern, concern very few people have ever given me. The look freezes me and stops my heart cold. I can see it now, I can see his eyes,  _ Misaki’s  _ eyes. Who are you now? What type of person is behind that gaze? Do I even want to know?  _ Yes, of course yes _ . I have never wanted anything so desperately in my life.

His lips finally work themselves open, the faintest of whispers passing his lips, “Saruhiko.”

The only sound I can manage is a singular breath of a word, “Misaki.”


	12. Journey to the Other Side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is not nearly as long as the last few, but I felt that I was at a good stopping point.
> 
> I'm hoping that this chapter meets everyone's expectations. I know everyone has been waiting a long time for Misaki and Saruhiko to finally have the opportunity to talk for more than two seconds, so I really hope it doesn't disappoint T.T
> 
> As always, please enjoy, and let me know your thoughts!
> 
> P.S. You may have noticed this already, but I should have made it clear a couple chapters ago: if PTSD and depression are triggers for you, this story may not be the right one for you. The depression and PTSD symptoms he has been experiencing the last couple chapters are very typical for someone in his position; therefore, those elements are not going to be vanishing anytime soon. I just felt I needed to say something since those trigger warnings aren't necessarily spelled out in the description of the story.
> 
> P.S.S. Happy 4th of July!

“Misaki,” the Captian says, “would you mind sitting down? Your staring is--”

“Starting to creep us all out.” The man called Kusanagi shoots him an exasperated look. “Please take a breath and sit down. That’s what the other chair is for.”

“Oi! Shut up! I’m not staring!”

His yell is enough to snap my brain to attention. Without a single thought of what is going to come out of my mouth, I open my lips and murmur, “Stand there for much longer and I’ll begin to wonder if there’s anything working inside of that thick skull of yours at all.” His eyes widen, the color in them blazing a brilliant gold under the light. It draws my focus in, making me meet his glare head-on.  _ Yes? _ “Are you actually going to speak? Or shall I carry on this conversation alone?”

The reaction is instantaneous. “Hey! Asshole!”

My lips twist into something resembling a smile. “So you can speak. That’s a relief.”

“Tch. You’ve become a real bastard, you know?”

“Better a bastard than an idiot.”

Neither of us speaks as he continues glaring at me. After several long, drawn out seconds, he finally closes his eyes and heaves in a long sigh. “Yeah, yeah, alright.” He reaches over and grabs the other chair, flopping down into it. Ungraceful as always... _ as always _ … “You have some nerve coming back after all this time.” He opens an eye and scowls once more. “You leave without a word. Your damn brother won’t say a thing. You couldn’t pick up a phone or send a letter? Something? _ Anything _ ? I thought you were dead.”

“I thought you were,” I whisper. 

He opens both his eyes at that, his brow furrowing. Would you quit frowning for five seconds? You’re going to ruin that dumb, pretty face of yours. “What do you mean?” he asks.

“That therapist didn’t tell you?”

“Anna? No, of course not. She didn’t tell us anything. She wouldn’t even tell Mikoto. She was really upset.”

_ She  _ was _?  _ Why the hell was she upset? Although I think the words, I keep them to myself. We don’t need to discuss that particular emotional breakdown in any length or detail. Or ever again for that matter. In fact, let’s just skip right over that and get to the crux of the matter. “Nagare showed me photos from the fire. He told me you were dead and I believed him.”

“What bullshit!” he yells, leaping to his feet again.

“ _ Misaki _ ,” the Captain warns, “sit down.”

“ _ Fine _ .” He throws himself back into the chair, crossing his arms in the process like a petulant child. “So who is this Nagare jerk-off everyone keeps talking about? No one is telling me anything.”

Wait,  _ what _ ? Who is... _ dear Christ _ . My eyes dart to the Captain’s, the lids narrowing. “You didn’t tell him.” It is a statement of fact, not a question.

“No.”

My fingers tense around the edges of the book in my hands. Let me take a _wild_ guess. “You want me to?”

“Yes,” he murmurs. “We’re in the middle of an investigation. Legally, I can’t tell either of them anything. I can coordinate with them and arrange to have you under their protection, but beyond the most basic of facts, I cannot share any information with someone not directly involved in the investigation.”

“But I can?”

“Yes."

Of course I can. Why am I not surprised? “And you couldn’t have told me before now? A little forewarning would have been appreciated,” I mutter.

The corners of his lips tighten, although the movement is so slight, it is almost imperceptible. “I wasn’t permitted to. I do have a boss, you know?”

That expression on your face...You had a very similar look when you dropped that Anna woman off with me. What exactly is your boss doing that is putting you in such a foul mood? “Alright,” I say slowly.

“ _ Soo _ is anyone going to tell me anything at all? No one has answered my question.” My eyes shift back to the grumbling boy sitting across from me. His whole body seems to loosen when he sees my face. “I deserve to know at least that much, right?” Lips twisting, Misa-chan smiles at me... _ Misa-chan does _ . There is nothing from childhood that I remember more clearly than that smile. “You’re my family, and you disappeared. I deserve to know why.”

_ Family _ . The word bangs around my skull.  _ Family _ . You were my only true family. Ever. But to hear you say it so plainly...I cannot think about this right now. I can’t. I taste salt on my lips, but I don’t know where it’s coming from. “My brother sold me.”

“Eh?”

“Nagare,” I clear my throat. Ugh, what is going on with this phlem in my mouth? “Nagare is a sex trafficker. He sells people and films porn, specifically rape and torture.”

The smile vanishes, the lines on his face deepening and his eyes growing wide. " _ What _ ?”

Why do I have to keep repeating this story over and over again? I don’t want to do this anymore. Then again, why should I be upset? Why should I care? There is no use being upset after so many years, right? Just ignore it. Push the feelings away--push them down so deep they disappear and are eaten by the darkness. There is nothing to care about. It is what it is. That’s what everyone is always saying anyways. My tone is dull and detached when I say the final bit. “Nagare bought me to be his personal whore. He knew how attached I was to you, so he told me you died in the fire.”

“Saruhiko--” There are tears brimming in those ever changing eyes, the color swirling around, a never-ending whirlwind of brown and yellow. “I’m sorry. That’s just--just--argh!” He angrily wipes at his face, those whirling orbs disappearing and leaving my heart pounding. The feeling is strange and perplexing, like so many others I have been experiencing lately. All of it is confusing-- _ I hate it _ . I hate not understanding.

“Stop your blubbering.  _ Idiot _ .” I smile at him, but the look is forced. Can you stop crying? Angry or otherwise?  _ Please? _

Despite my attempt at an appeasing countenance, it is ignored. Wonderful. “Mom and I looked everywhere. We called the cops. We spoke to  _ everyone _ . How could this happen? What the fuck?!” Up again I see. Just sit down would you? “Saruhiko!” Turning, he glowers at me, the rims of his eyes puffy and red. What the hell is that look supposed to be? “Why didn’t you run? Why didn’t you fight? Why didn’t you come back?!”

“ _ Misaki _ ,” the Captain warns again.

Why didn’t I fight? Why didn’t I  _ run _ ? Are you fucking  _ serious _ ? “You have no idea,” I seethe. “You think I didn’t try? You think I wanted to leave you? You have no idea what I’ve been through. Do you want to see what happened to me when I tried to run?” I stand up, throwing the book on the seat behind me. You’re really starting to piss me off! “You want to know  _ why _ ? I’ll show you then!” I yell the final bit at him. If this is the only way to get the message through that damned thick skull of yours, then so be it!

I turn my back on him and rip at the nasty, ugly monstrosity they call a shirt, my hands fumbling with the cotton fabric. Just get off will you?! “This!” I snarl. “ _ This  _ is what he did to me when I tried to run away!” I hear the collective intake of breath. Oh, don’t act so surprised! “He whipped me and then poured acid on the open wounds and left me to die.”

There! Are you satisfied now? I certainly am! I throw the clothing haphazardly back over my head, circling in place to look at the others. Yet, when I catch sight of the horrified look on his face, all sense of vindication flees me, leaving nothing but a cold hollowness in the pit of my stomach.

“Saru-” he whispers.

“Don’t say it,” I snap, cutting him off. Your apologies mean nothing to me; noone’s does. None of you were there, so what is the purpose of apologizing for something you couldn’t possibly have prevented? “It’s fine,” I sigh. “It happened a long time ago.” 

There is no response. Well? Say something would you? “What do you want from me?” I exhale.

“What do I want?” he replies, the sound loud in the silent emptiness of the room. The corners of his mouth tighten; an intriguing juxtaposition to the way his eyes are narrowing, closing to mere slits and hiding the colors. Don’t do that--it makes you look quite unattractive, glaring like that. “I want you,” he continues, “to tell me where I can find this Nagare fucker. Cause when I find him, I’m going to  _ fucking _ kill him.” The anger radiates off of him. The rage is so potent it is practically palpable. 

But it is his words and not his anger that causes my body to still, as though shards of ice are stabbing through my muscles and shattering them. My innards crawl, almost akin to worms squirming about inside of me. All of the sensations are incredibly dolorous, uncomfortable at best. I try shaking them off, but it doesn’t work. All I can do is continue to regard the savage expression smearing his features. You cannot go after Nagare. I won't let you. Damn it, why are you such an idiot?! You're going to get yourself killed! “You can’t kill him, Misaki.”

“Oh, I can and I will. Just watch me.”

~

I take a seat at the long table in the conference room, where the Captain has left me to await my own bonafide chauffeur. The television has been turned off and the whiteboard has been flipped over, hiding all of the incriminating photos. Thank the gods. I run a fingertip over the smooth surface of the table, scratching at it with my nail.  _ Misaki _ . You’re loud, demanding, and temperamental.  _ Obnoxious  _ is what you are. Yet, despite all of that, it is impossible to ignore your sympathetic nature, so alike to who you once were, it is like rewinding time. 

And now I’ll be staying in the same building as you. Sleeping within feet of you. My nail catches as I press down. Am I supposed to be happy about this? I want to. I want to feel happy. And yet...the anxiety is pulsing inside of me, tightening around my lungs, so much so that I can barely breathe. All the joy I should be feeling is being stifled beneath the raging fear thrashing inside of me. I’m scared. I’m so scared and I don’t know why.

I close my eyes and I see your smile; your smile is so similar to Misa-chan’s, but there is something about it that seems incomplete somehow. It is jaded now, the innocence of youth gone, lost to a past I can no longer grasp hold of. A streak of green strikes my inner lids, and Misaki disappears, leaving only the manic grey.  _ ‘Saruhiko, where do you think you’re going? Come back to bed.’ _ Shit! My eyes open just as the handle clicks. The door swings open and closed. 

What the  _ fuck _ ?!  I jump to my feet, the chair tipping and clanging to the floor in the process. 

“Why, you must be Fushimi. How  _ very _ nice to meet you.” The predatory leer makes me recoil. “I’m--”

“ _ A fucking cop _ ?!” Jesus Christ!  “Stay away from me,” I hiss. “You duplicitous piece of shit.” I grab the closest and only thing in the vicinity--an old, empty coffee mug--and pitch it at his head. He easily moves his head to the side, the porcelain instantly shattering and carpeting the floor. Damn it, I forgot how fast he was. Or maybe my aim just isn’t as sharp as usual.

“Now that’s not a very nice thing to do to someone you’ve just met, Fushimi.”

“Oh hardly,” I snarl.

“My name is Miwa Ichigen, it is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance.” He dips his head forward in a quasi-bow. The look on your face is utterly asinine you fallacious scumbag. Wipe that damn smirk off your face before I punch it off.

“That is not your name,” I growl at him.

“Ah, I guess you’re right,” he says, his lips twitching. “That was my father’s name. But my father, a very traditional man you know, gifted me with it upon my birth.” He scratches his chin, almost as though musing over his next few words. “If he knew that one day he’d attempt to disown me, I am not sure he would have chosen to give me his namesake.”

I snort. “Well, I certainly would hope so, Ishi. Most every man alive is of higher moral standing than you.”

“Now I wouldn’t say that.” He starts heading around the table towards me. I catch myself taking an instinctive step backwards. It takes me tensing every muscle in my body not to move back any further. If he truly wanted me dead, I would be. He could have snuck into that makeshift room at any time and stuck a needle in my neck. Hell, he probably could have shot me point blank in the face and gotten away with it. Every step he takes makes my heart race, the throbbing muscle thrashing against my ribcage. Nevertheless, I stand my ground, grinding my teeth and pressing my lips together in a sneer, if only to keep myself from turning tail and running.

When he reaches me, he stops, hovering over me with that ridiculously huge frame of his.  _Fuck_.  He could crush me right here and now if he wanted to. Leaning down, his breath fans over my face, making me want to shiver. Despite every internal instinct revolting against me, I lift my face into it instead of moving away. “Let me guess,” I murmur, “Nagare has a message for me?”

His eyes seem to gleam when he grins, the look in them humorous. “You’re so very amusing, Fushimi.” Leaning down even further, his lips stop barely an inch away from mine. Try to kiss me and I’ll bite your tongue off. Instead of a kiss, his hand lifts, coming ever closer to my face. My sneer pulls at my cheek muscles. “Touch me,” I whisper,  _ almost  _ congenially, “and I’ll rip your dick off and feed it to you.”

“We can’t have that now can we,” he responds, a chuckle vibrating from deep within his chest. “Let me be perfectly clear.” His fingertips push their way into the skin of my throat. I let him. Sometimes keeping still causes the least amount of damage. “The mere idea of fucking another man makes me ill.  _ However _ , I can see why Nagare likes you. The soft hair, the delicate frame…” He rubs his cheek against mine before digging his nose into the crook of my neck. Don’t move.  _ Don’t move, Saruhiko _ . “Even your smell is similar to a woman’s.” His lips move against my skin--so damnably vile. “Everyone’s blood is the same beneath the knife. I would love to slice this creamy flesh of yours. It’s so pale. The red would look so beautiful in contrast.” I can feel his wretched smile against my neck, almost like a kiss.

I want to vomit. Will he break my neck if I puke on him? My skin is burning where his lips are touching me, almost as if he were branding me. “As pleasant as that sounds,” I reply softly, “I think I’ll pass. Lay a hand on me, and Nagare will slaughter you. It would be a shame for you to lose access to all those beautiful women Nagare hands over to you on a silver platter."

The digits around my neck pulse, the feeling bordering on pain before loosening and slipping away. He gives my neck the briefest of kisses and then his mouth is gone. Pulling back, he meets my gaze, that amused look never having left. “Nagare would dismember me if I did anything to you. He’s told me as much himself. That being said, he also gave me explicit directions to backhand you if I caught you acting out of turn.”

_ Shit _ . Those words  hold every threat imaginable. If I talk or draw attention to myself, he’ll have Ishi kill me. I can’t protect myself against the taller man, at least not without a weapon; he’s too strong. To him I am nothing more than a rag doll. “Is that all?” I reply, keeping my voice level, despite the inherent fear coursing through every limb and every vein.

“You need to prove your loyalty. Either you prove yourself and return of your own will, or you will die.” Ishi finally,  _ finally _ , steps back from me. Eck, I need another shower. Your touch is absolutely  _ noxious _ \--I want to wash every point of contact and scrub it raw. Yukari sucking on my neck is one thing. Your filthy, blood-drenched hands gripping me is a whole other thing altogether. “Come,” he says, “I’ll give you more details on the way to that feculent shamble they call HOMRA.”

He turns his back on me and heads towards the door. “Come along, Fushimi.” When he reaches the door, he pauses. “Oh, by the way. I would hope you’re smart enough to realize this, but it bears reminding. Call me anything besides Miwa or Ichigen, and I will ruin you.” Head cocking to the side, he shoots me a venomous glower that nearly causes me to stumble. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, implicitly.”


	13. Hidden Faces Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....it hasn't been as long as you thought...the last five weeks were just an illusion...
> 
> On a serious note. This chapter took a long time to write--1. Because there were events that were already well-formulated and others that I had to build up from scratch. And 2. Because it's long. Really. Really. Long (*¬*)
> 
> *head fall on keyboard*
> 
> Here's to hoping everything turned out nicely...
> 
> ***P.S.!!!***The chapter was too long to format in one night. So I had to break it into two parts. I will post part two later this week. It's pretty much done, just not formatted, so no need to worry my dear friends.

“Miwa, there you are!”

"Enjoy the vacation, you slacker?"

“Yeah Ichigen! Where the hell do you get off taking a vacation? You missed the raid! All this talk about, 'I'll take him down myself' and then you go lay on a beach for two weeks while we do all the dirty work?”

“Sorry guys! I had that vacation planned months ago. You know I wouldn’t have missed it otherwise. I’ve been waiting for a year to be in on that. The whole situation pisses me off!”

Look at that beautiful, smiling face. His gaze is so warm and gentle. I fervently wish I could bash it in with a two by four. Every five seconds now we’re having to stop so that you can greet your coworkers. Where the hell is this persona even coming from? The grin on your face actually appears to be _genuine_. Am I going blind? Or senile? Maybe both? If I were to analyze your behavior and compare it to the dictionary definition of psychopath, I am not sure there would be a singular difference. Your manipulation skills are nearly as refined Nagare’s, maybe even more so. And if that isn’t a horrifying proposition, I don’t know what is.

“So, do you think you can handle this one, Miwa? From what I heard, he has quite the temper.” Excuse me? I turn to look at the man sitting in a nearby chair. His gaze is sharp, those grey eyes of his heated, contemptuous even. If you have a problem, please, _enlighten_ me.

“Now, now, Fushimi hasn’t given me any trouble thus far. Now, I’m not saying he won’t give me _anything_ to worry about.” 'Miwa' cocks his head to the side so he can wink at me. I cannot help but wonder what literal, or figurative meaning I am supposed to draw from that sentence. This whole situation is unnervingly bizarre; never would I have imagined that I would, at any point in my life, be standing here in a police station next to _Ishi_ of all people. Our last interaction was anything but pleasant--you forcibly dragging my naked body across the floor, legitimately kicking and screaming the whole way, so I could be shackled to the wall. The duplicity of this entire scenario makes my teeth grind. You're worse than Nagare.

“ _Miwa_ ,” I say softly, my tone soothing, “shall we go now? Isn’t there some place we need to be?”

He completely turns around at that. A light in his eyes spark, the smile wavering as a smirk tries and fails to slip onto his face. You like it when I’m docile, don’t you? Probably makes me appear more feminine--something you'd be appreciative of, surely. “Of course, Fushimi. Let’s get going.” He places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes.

I bare my teeth at him and snarl. _Get your filthy hands off of me_ . My body acts of its own accord--my hand immediately reaches up and grasps his. The short, jagged nails I have dig as deep into his hand as they can. I feel the thin, wafer-like flesh give way as my nails cut the skin and draw blood. I can’t help myself. I absolutely refuse to let go. I want you to _bleed_.

Despite my glare, despite the thin trail of blood dripping down the side of his hand and onto the floor, Ishi doesn’t react; not even a twitch. The only part of his body that responds, is a simple shift of his eyes. _Fuck_. Furious doesn't even come close to identifying the emotion seeping out of that one look _._ I forgot how much Ishi not just hates, but __loathes_ _ being scratched. He likes subduing people and watching them struggle; but if anyone ever inflicts an actual injury on __him_ ,_ he goes ballistic. Just like last time... “It’s about time for you to let go, isn’t it?” he murmurs, so quietly that I almost don’t hear him. No matter the words, the look in his gaze is enough. My hand slips away and drops to my side.

You know, all of this could have been avoided if you had just kept your hands to yourself. What you did in the conference room couldn’t be helped. No one was around to curb your behavior, but not this time. You don’t get to do that where others can see it, because when you do, I have witnesses. Then it’s no longer your word against mine. I turn my face up and smile wide, lowering my voice so I can whisper, “Don’t do that again. You don’t have permission to touch me. I’ll out you right here and now, even if that means you putting a bullet through my skull.”

A fresh flush of fury races across his vision, but the emotion never reaches his facial muscles. Instead of a frown, or a scowl, he merely smiles back at me. “Now that that’s all settled, shall we go?”

“Of course, _Miwa_. Lead the way.”

The boy sitting near us turns his glaring eyes to Ishi. “You know you don't have to tolerate that shit. Are you sure you’ll be okay? I’m more than happy to help.”

“No, no, it’s okay. He’s just sensitive is all.”

Piss off, jackass.

“If you say so. I know he’s been difficult so far. Probably doesn’t help that the Captain is coddling him so much. Just sit him down in the interrogation room and let the Director and DA have a crack at him. It’s what they’ve been pushing for from day 1.” He sighs and taps a finger on the table. “We’re wasting precious time waiting for this guy to get himself together. The longer this takes the further away Nagare gets.”

I am standing right here. You _are_ aware of this, right? Are you mentally deficient? I keep the thought to myself. Instead, let's discuss the futility of your grandeur plans, “You aren’t going to catch him.” Now that I know Ishi is a cop, there is honest to God not a single reason in this world for me to believe the police will ever find him. It's no wonder why it was so easy for Nagare to just pick up and leave before the raid. Ishi probably warned him _weeks_ ago.

“What would you know?” he snaps in retaliation.

I can’t help a chuckle from bursting out of me. “W-what would I know? You’re joking.” Let’s just go. Christ, you are moronic. I turn on my heel and begin walking away. I’m done with you. “Miwa,” I snap, “I’m leaving with or without you. Your choice.”

“Oi!”

I ignore the boy’s call and continue to walk away. I am so done here. Just done.  


~

We’re 10 minutes into the drive, no words having been spoken the whole time, when Ishi finally speaks to me. “We have a stop to make along the way. There’s someone you need to meet before I drop you off.”

“And who is this person? Why don’t you just drop me off with Nagare and be done with it? Surely it wouldn’t be difficult to pretend someone attacked us and took me.”

“Because, that scenario doesn't make sense. They wouldn’t leave me alive and take only you. There is no plausible scenario where they would attack the vehicle and not kill me in the process.”

Hmm, I guess I didn’t think about that. But there has to be an easier way than this, right? “Okay, who are we meeting?”

“My brother.”

Hold on. What the hell are you talking about? “Wait a second. You have a brother? What does your brother have to do--” I glance at him from the backseat and stop talking. He’s not even listening. I might as well be talking to myself. The car comes to a stop and he pulls out his cell.

“I’m here. Get in.”

Where are we? There aren’t any open restaurants or shops in this area: some abandoned buildings and construction sites are all there is within eye-shot. 'Seedy' doesn’t even come close to describing this place. The door on the opposite side of me opens. The boy that climbs in is slim, his long dark hair partially tied up, loose strands falling into his face. _Wow._ Look at how pale his skin is...it makes his eyes so starkly blue it’s hard to look anywhere else. He's almost a match for Yukari in the looks department. Damn, even _I'd_ consider fucking him if Nagare wouldn’t run me through for just  _kissing_ another human being. With looks like this, how could he and Ishi possibly be brothers? There isn’t anything in his appearance that would suggest the two of them are related. Ishi is...well, he’s _massive_. This kid can’t be much taller than I am. “Uhh--”

Ishi cuts me off. “He’s adopted.”

“Ah, I see.”

The boy looks across the seat at me and opens his mouth, “I’m Yatogami Kuroh, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Fushimi,” I mumble in return. _Yatogami Kuroh_ ...Why does that name sound so familiar? Kuroh... _Kuroh_...Holy shit! “You’re--you’re Yukari’s bitch!”

“Hey!” he yells. "Do not call me that!" He coughs then, straightening his back and regaining composure. "I’m his boyfriend," he finishes calmly.

Heh, from the few things I’ve heard Yukari let slip, that is _not_ the word I would use. “His _boyfriend_ …?” I reply. “You’re _dating_ Yukari?” Just saying the words aloud sound blasphemous.

The key phrases that Yukari uses in regards to you are ’my beautiful blooming flower’ and ‘my own little piece of paradise’. I am not sure I would equate those phrases with boyfriend status. The word I believe you are looking for is ‘possession’. Granted, I have to give credit where credit is due. Yukari actually allows you the freedom of movement. You get to be Yukari’s ‘kept man’ instead of his prisoner. You get to live in an apartment on the outside an go out and do everyday activities. You get to have a _life_.

Even so, Yukari rarely talks about his life outside of Nagare’s world. Kuroh, you poor naive boy. Do you know what business Yukari is a part of? Do you know what your own brother does? Or do they keep you completely in the dark? Logically, I can only deduce that Yukari hasn’t told you anything. If he did, you would know that he fucks me regularly. I find it highly unlikely that you would sit beside me so calmly if you knew that tidbit of information...

“Yes, I am dating him, so I would appreciate it if you changed your choice of words. I don’t care for your insinuations.” You are so veracious and earnest--the polar opposite of Yukari.

How did he sway you into his bed? What beautifully crafted words did he use to convince you to date _him_ of all people? _Jesus_ , you need help. Fuck, _I_ need help. There is no reason to be thinking about all of these questions. Knowing the answers won’t help my situation. And honestly, it’s probably better _not_ to think about it. The harder I think about it, the more guilty I’ll feel. It’s exhausting feeling responsible all of the time.

“Alright, Yatogami. I won’t talk about Yukari. I’d rather not talk about him anyways. He’s an asshole.”

He glares at me. “Yukari is a very kind person.”

“Okay, if you say so.” I hold up my hands in a placating gesture. No need to rile the beast. But surely deep down in that pretty little head of yours, you know I’m right? Or are you just one more sincere lost cause caught up in this mess?

I turn my attention away from him and look back at the driver so I can ask the one question that has been bothering me since Yatogami first climbed inside. “Soo, Miwa, why exactly did I need to meet your brother?”

“Because, he’s the one who’s going to help you escape.”

“Pardon?”

I cock my head to the side and look back at the boy next to me. His expression is hard, his eyes bright and unblinking. The look is captivating. You are a very unique individual, I'll give you that. “Don’t get the wrong idea,” he states. “I’m doing this for Yukari, not for you or Kotosaka. I don’t know what Koto-san has been doing to get the cops involved, but I won’t let Yukari take the fall for him.”

Kotosaka, huh? Is that what Nagare goes by on the outside? Interesting choice. Regardless… “How exactly do you propose to break me out of police custody?”

Ishi'a lips twist as he throws the car into drive and starts towards the main part of town. “You’re going to walk right out the front door.”

“Come again?”  
  
~

We pull up in front of an unobtrusive 3 story townhouse. Generic brick, shuttered windows, and a cement stoop--all the tell tale signs of a teenage drug stop. At least that is what 90’s cinema would suggest. THe reality, however, doesn’t quite match the image. Everything looks too clean, too well maintained. Ishi climbs out of the vehicle first and comes round to open the door. He leans against the side of the police car as I slide out, watching every move I make. He waits until I am standing on the sidewalk before slamming the door and stepping up behind me. Warm breath tickles my ear and I still. “What now, Ishi?” I whisper.

“Don’t start with me,” he hisses. “Keep your trap shut. Once we enter that building, any information you have better be zipped up and stashed away. Before we do, is there anything you want me to impart to Nagare?”

That is a very good question. If he were here standing in front of me, what _would_ I say? Would I tell him how lost I feel? Would I tell him how scared I am that I’ll wake to his hands wrapped around my throat? Or would I tell him how frightened I am of the prospect of life without him, even more than I am of him stealing the breath from my lungs and burying me where no one will ever think to look? There is nothing for me out here. What happens if he cannot take me home? "Tell that asshole that he has a week. I am not waiting for him any longer.”

I approach the door, hearing Ishsi ‘tsk’ behind me. When we get to the door, Ishi reaches around me and presses a button on the door intercom. “Hey, Kusanagi, I’m here with the kid. Open up.”

The door pulls open within seconds, the blond standing back to allow me entrance. “Yo, Miwa. No problems on your way here?”

“None that I saw. You get everything from the Captain?”

“Yes, clothing, medication, and supplies. We should be all set. I’ll let you phone it in.”

“Alright,” he replies, glancing sideways at me. “I’ll catch you later, Fushimi. Try and behave, okay?” He winks and then is gone, walking back towards his vehicle. Go crash into a tree you prick.

“Fushimi?”

My eyes snap back to Kusanagi. “Yes?”

“Let’s go.” Turning away, he heads back inside and down the hall, the implication to follow unspoken. “While you’re here, you are not to answer the door, or leave the house without an escort. There are only two exits: the front door and the door in the kitchen. The pantry is open at all times. You can go in and take whatever you wish. The fridge is another matter. I had to specially invest in that one to keep these damn brats from devouring all of my produce. The fridge is on a timer and cannot be opened between 2 am and 11 am.”

Heh. What is this, a detention hall for unruly teenagers? “Okay?”

“The room to the left is the library. It connects to a study room. Those rooms are for those attending school, although feel free to use them if you are so inclined. Perhaps if you do some studying, it will get Yata to actually open a book for once. Not that I’m holding out much hope. Now,the door to your right is the TV and game room. That room is locked during working hours.”

“Working hours? Care to be more specific?” I reply, deadpan. That explains nothing.

He pauses and shoots me a glance over his shoulder. “Do you have any idea what we do here?”

“Did my question imply that I know your facilities’ day to day operations? No one has told me anything. All I was told is that there are a bunch of gangster hoodlums stashed away in here.”

He shakes his head and blows out a long breath. “You really do have a sharp tongue. I thought that your attitude might be related to your interactions with Misaki, but I am starting to doubt that is the case.”

I certainly wouldn’t call my behavior barbed by any means, candid maybe. “There is no reason to be vague and pleasant when being straightforward and curt actually gets answers.”

He mulls the words over before replying, “I suppose that is one way to look at it.” He stops in an open doorway and points inside. “Kitchen and dining room are that way. Eat in your room and you clean it. I’m not paying for a housekeeper.” He turns around and points back in the other direction. “Let’s go upstairs.

"You are going to be on the third floor with Yata, Kamamoto, and Eric. There are an additional four bedrooms on the second floor and two more in the basement. There is one bathroom on each floor, including the basement. Please keep in mind that you are staying in the last open room. If the boys catch you snooping in their bedrooms, I can’t promise your safety. And to be frank, I wouldn’t blame them.” No need to tell me that. I have no interest in interacting with any of you.

We make it to the second landing. Two doors creak, the wooden frames creeping open just enough that I can make out three different pairs of eyes looking out from the blackness. My body doesn’t give me a choice--it tenses without my consent, my fingertips twitching, wanting to curl into fists. I don’t know who you people are and I certainly won’t be here long enough for it to matter. There shouldn’t be any reason for me to be afraid. I force myself to continue moving, following after Kusanagi as we head up to the third and final floor. When we reach the top, he pulls out a key from his pocket and heads over to the first door on the left. “This is your room. It’s not much space, but I am sure you’ve dealt with worse.”

Not quite in the way you are suggesting. There has only ever been one time when Nagare punished me with enclosed spaces--only once. He locked me in a coffin for exactly one hour after I had been particularly defiant. I was still too young to know how to maintain my composure in high stress circumstances. After locking me in, I screamed at Nagare for a full fifteen minutes before losing my voice. I tore at the cloth first and then at the wood, ripping off several fingernails in the process. The entire situation was very unpleasant and very bloody. Fortunately for me, Nagare did _not_ like the look of my hands after all was said and done. Instead of punishing me, he destroyed the coffin and bought me a brand new bed. Job well done, I suppose, although I certainly wouldn’t call a new bed a present.

“You could say that,” I murmur.

The door swings open. Kusanagi holds out the key to me, expectant. “Take it. It’s yours.” I obey without thought, reaching out and grabbing the key to my temporary bedroom. “Good. All of your belongings are inside. Everyone meets at 3 pm in the dining room for group dinner before work. Unless you are sick or in class, you are expected to attend. Some of us will be in the kitchen between 2 and 2:30 to start preparing the food. Please feel free to join us if you are so inclined.” The blond man actually smiles then, a true smile, not merely one of pleasantries. “I know this must be a confusing time for you. But I think you could do some real good for the boys here. Everyone has been a bit down lately with Mikoto being so busy; but I think they’ll enjoy having someone new in the house.”

You mean they’ll enjoy having a sex toy in the house, right? The only important fact of note is that I have been moved into a house inhabited by randy young men. I doubt they will want to have any serious discussion with me outside of my professional expertise in bending over. Regardless, I will do what I can to keep their minds out of the gutter and away from their dicks. With the horrific clothing choices I have been given it shouldn’t be too difficult. There’s probably even a black turtleneck in there somewhere--I’ll have to fend off the masses if I wear _that_ one. Absolutely ridiculous. I’d rather have Yukari dress me in those fuck ugly model leather pants he loves than wear beggard, ill-fitted clothing.

He gives my shoulder a brief pat and continues, “Welcome to HOMRA, Fushimi. I’ll see you at 3. If you need anything, just ask anyone. I need to head out for a bit, but I’ll be back around 2.” He turns and starts down the stairs. On the third step down he pauses. “Oh, and just one last thing. I should have clarified this earlier. While I am gone, you are not to leave this house. Any plans you make to leave, even with an escort, must have my explicit approval.” The look in his eyes is intense, the irises flickering as though they are made of flame. It is a look that demands obedience. And that’s one expression I could never misconstrue. “Fushimi,” he continues, “am I clear?”

“Of course.” Upon hearing my answer, he gives an affirmative nod and then is off. That’s my cue to close the door. I shut it and lock it; not going to leave that to chance. I drop the key onto a small bedside table next to my medication and a bag full of toiletries. There’s a dresser in the corner, which is where I presume they put all of my clothing. There isn’t a closet so I can only guess. I drop down onto the bed and toss my glasses onto the table next to the key. When I go to lean back, my hand stops short. What the hell? I look behind me.  _The photo album?_ But why would you leave this for me? Don’t you know that if you leave it with me again, I’ll never give it back? I’ll hold onto it until Nagare pries it out of my cold, half-dead fingers.

Despite how much I desire it, you should not have given it to me. If I open it again it will destroy me. Every page, every photo, over and over again, each and every picture a stark reminder of what was taken from me--a fresh wound that would dig so deep I would drown in my own blood. There is nothing within these pages that I can reclaim: not freedom, not family, not love or tenderness. The family we made together, Misa-chan? It’s not real. At least not anymore.

I lay down, rolling over onto my side. My fingers run over the leather binding, my fingertips grasping hold of it. Just because I shouldn’t look doesn’t mean I can’t touch, right? I pull the book closer and enfold it in my arms. _Damn it, Saruhiko_. A glimpse of one photo isn’t the end of the world. Am I truly so weak that I cannot ignore the book and leave it sitting there a mere foot away? I suppose I am.

 _Misa-chan_ . Don’t you know that no good can come of me remembering you? You were my world, you were my _everything_ ...until Nagare came along and took your place. And now I have him, or rather, he has me. Yet here you are, flesh and blood. You are not a mere flicker of a long ago memory. I can _see_ you. I can _hear_ you. I can _touch_ you. I want to curl myself around your body and hold on for as long as I can before this beautiful delusion is engulfed in flames and crumbles to ashes all around me. _But_. There’s always a ‘but’. You aren’t really Misa-chan, are you? You are Yata now, and he is someone I do not know. I do not know who you are anymore, Misaki. At least, that’s what the rational side of my brain tells me.

It’s a very pretty lie though, isn’t it, Misa-chan?

 


	14. Hidden Faces Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I would post the second half later this week. it is technically next week now, but close enough! I did end up adding a whole additional part to this chapter, so at least that's a bonus! Yay!!!!!!

_ “Nee, Saru?” _

_ “Mmm?” _

_ “Do you remember your daddy?” _

_ “What?” I look up from my coloring book and twist my head so I can see my friend lying next to me on the bed. His hand is hovering over his book, while still holding onto the red crayon. You’re going to drop it, you dummy. And that’s the only red one. _

_ “Your dad. Do you remember him?” _

_ I don’t know. Do I? I scrunch up my face and try hard to think, but there is nothing there to remember. “No, I don’t remember him. Nii-chan told me once that he was Mommy’s boss. But I think he’s lying. I’ve met Mommy’s boss and he’s really mean. I don’t like it when he comes over." I turn my eyes away and frown down at my book. Taking a random crayon, I start coloring the dog’s hat, pressing it down as hard as I can. I hate Mommy’s boss. He calls me bad names and breaks my toys. _

_ "Doesn't your mommy know where he is?” _

_ “She won’t tell me,” I pout. “She says he didn’t want me. I was causing him trouble, so he left me. That’s what Mommy said.” I color the book harder. I don’t understand why I’m not good enough. Why didn’t he like me? Was I the wrong baby? Did he want a different boy? I don’t care! He’s a jerk! _

_ Something heavy falls on my shoulder. Huh? “Misa-chan?” _

_ He rubs his face on my shoulder, smiling. “I’m glad your daddy left.” _

_ What a weird thing to say. “Why?” _

_ He moves closer, sliding over on his belly so his whole body is leaning against mine. He’s so warm. I drop my crayon and let my head fall against his. I want to be closer. Misa-chan is safe and comfy and warm. He’s the only one who will cuddle with me anymore, but I don’t care. He’s a better cuddler than Mommy anyways. _

_ "He would’ve taken you away and made you be in his family, but now you get to be in mine instead.” _

_ I smile. My whole body feels like it’s tingling and it feels so nice. “You’re really smart, Misa-chan.” _

_ “I know,” he says, giggling. “I’m smarter than you!” _

_ “No, you’re not!” I think I should be angry, but his laughing is making me want to giggle too.  _

_ “Hey, Saru?” His voice is hushed now, even quieter than before. Is it a secret? _

_ “Yeah?” I whisper back. _

_ “One day, when we’re all grown up, we’re gunna run away. We’ll go somewhere so far, even your daddy can’t find us.” _

_ “I don’t think he wants to find me.” _

_ “Shut up!” He pushes his head harder into my shoulder. “My plans are awesome! Let me finish!” _

_ “Okay, okay, I won’t say anything else!”  _

_ “That’s better.” I can feel his face moving as he talks. It feels like he’s smiling. “We’ll go to the whole other side of the world if we want. Just me and you. And we’ll have a dog--” _

_ “I don’t like dogs.” _

_ “We’ll have a cat then. We’ll have lots of money and a cool car. And then, we’ll find a house and we won’t let anyone else in because then…then, we can be together forever.” He stops for a second, and then whispers, “Saru, I don’t want you to leave anymore. You’re supposed to stay with me. It’s so lonely being by myself. Mommy works all day and then you leave and when you come back you’re so sad. And I don’t like it when you’re sad.” _

_ I feel his body shaking as he starts to cry, trying to dig his face into my shoulder. This is my fault, isn’t it? I’m the one making you cry. If I could stay here all the time, you wouldn’t be lonely anymore. I’m supposed to be here so I can watch you and protect you. That's what superheros do. "I’m sorry. I won’t leave you. Not ever. We’ll be together forever and I won’t ever make you cry again. I promise.” _   
  


~

_ A voice drifts in, the sound odd and out of place. “Saru-chan.” Hmm? Who is it? Is the room spinning? Everything around me seems to be. I close my eyes and breathe deep, trying to relax so the world stops falling. “Wake up, my beautiful flower.” I finally crack open my eyes. Who is it? Shit! I flounder with the sheet and immediately scoot upwards on the bed, pulling the sheet with me. Yukari! _

_ “What do you want, Yukari Ni-” I stop short, my hands curling into the fabric.  _ No.  _ That’s  _ not  _ right. Stop saying that! How many times until you learn, Saruhiko? How long has it been? Ten months? A year even? Use your head! He’s not any better or nicer than Nagare, despite his supposed kindness. It’s all fake and you know it. “Yukari. What do you want?” _

_ “Aw, Saru-chan, be nice. At least try and smile. I hate seeing you frown--it’s going to give you premature wrinkles. I’d hate to see that beautiful face of yours ruined so soon.” He hovers over me, leaning down closer. I recoil, pressing my back against the headboard in an attempt to get away. My back pulses, the muscles twitching. _

_ “Go away,” I hiss. You were just here a couple hours ago. My blood, my  _ cum _ \--ugh I loathe that word--only just finished drying on the sheets. Leave me alone. All I want to do is take a shower and go back to sleep. _

_ “I can’t do that, darling. Nagare wants you.” _

_ “Piss off! I want to go back to sleep. Tell him I’m not coming.” I narrow my eyes. I dare you to say otherwise. _

_ Yukari grins. “Oh, is that the game we’re playing now?” He chuckles, the sound low and melodic, almost as though he were singing. “Let’s play then,” he murmurs. Without another word, he reaches down and grabs the blanket. With almost no effort, he rips the cloth out of hands. _

_ “Give it back!” _

_ “I don’t think so.” He tosses it to the floor, baring my naked skin to the cold air. A hand curls around my wrist, pressing into my bruises and digging into the purple skin. _

_ “That hurts! Stop!” _

_ He clicks his tongue. “So unbecoming, Saru-chan. If you had listened the first time, it wouldn’t have to hurt.” He tugs hard and I tumble. As I fall to floor, Yukari starts walking away, causing me to land hard on my knees. I struggle to stumble after him, attempting and failing to regain my footing. _

_ “Yukari! Stop!” _

_ He slows down, allowing me just enough time to properly regain my footing. Nevertheless, his grip doesn’t let up. “Let’s go.” I keep pace with him, practically jogging to keep up with his long strides. Can’t you at least slow down enough to let me walk normally? You’re too tall. “Are you going to behave now?” he asks. Only after I nod does he loosen his grip on my wrist.  _ Finally _. “Good.” _

_ We head towards the front door of the apartment, but stop short when we reach the couch. Was that robe there before? I don’t recognize it. “Do you like it?” Huh? I look up at Yukari. “It’s yours.” His soft fingers slip away from my wrist and reach up, grabbing hold of my hair and softly tugging. I don’t bother pushing his hand away. He never listens to me anyways. _

_ Reaching out my hand, I run a finger over the white fabric. The texture is soft and slippery, silk-like even. Grabbing it, I pull it on, tightly wrapping the matching belt around my waist to keep it closed. It does feel pretty amazing, although I’m more happy about the fact that I’m not naked anymore. Yukari huffs, smirking, as he keys in a code on the pad next to the door. The panel beeps and the heavy locks on the door clunk open. Heading left, Yukari leads me down five separate hallways: left, left, right, left again, and finally right, each hallway lined with numerous doors. I wonder who is behind them. Cameramen? Crew men and their assistants? Surely not the one-time use cast offs. Perhaps the other regulars, but there aren’t enough of them to fill so many rooms.  _

_ As far as I can tell, there are only three or four regulars. Beyond passing them in the hallways though, I never see them outside of the film sets, so I can only guess at their living conditions. Nagare won’t let me speak with them, which doesn’t make any sense. Not that I’m going to question him. What could we possibly do that would make talking to each other dangerous? There’s no way out of here, at least, I don’t think so. And even if there was, there is no one here that could convince me to leave. Not anymore. _

_ Yukari finally pauses in front of a door and pushes it open to step inside. I glance around the room and step further inside. There is a huge four-poster bed pushed against the wall, thin white curtains hanging from the sides. The sheets on the bed are also white, neatly made and freshly clean. There aren’t any visible cameras, let alone a camerman. The carpet looks new. There’s even an old, antique dresser and mirror sitting nearby. I don’t understand. Is this someone’s bedroom? I have never seen this set before. _

_ At the foot of the bed is a loveseat, another piece of white furniture. Right in the center of the loveseat is Nagare, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He doesn’t turn when we enter, but I can see his lips moving, parting into a leer. “Ah, Saruhiko, come here.” _

_ I don’t hesitate, I walk across the room and stand in front of him. What do you want now? When I stop, he doesn’t look up; his hand stretches forward, grabbing hold of the robe's belt and pulling. My robe falls open and I’m exposed yet again. Damn it, can’t I stay clothed for just a few minutes?  _ Please _? I haven’t been able to keep my clothes on for three days now. Three.  _ Days _. I don't want to be naked anymore. _

_ Nagare leans in and blows a breath across my chest. Please don’t. I close my eyes tight and clench my hands. He does it again. Goosebumps run down my arms in response. “Don’t,” I whisper. Despite my objection, I don’t move away. He won’t like that and I don’t want to be hit. Not again. _

_ “Saruhiko, open your eyes,” he murmurs. I do so and meet his gaze. Please don’t look at me like that--that animalistic stare, more reminiscent of a wild cat than a real person. It’s as though your eyes cannot absorb the light, they’re so dark--I hate them. “We three are going to try something new today.” We  _ three _? I glance over at Yukari, who merely winks. You’re not helpful at all! My eyes dart back to Nagare. “Don’t look so worried,” he says.  _

_ Why wouldn’t I be worried?! You haven’t explained  _ a nything _. He stands up, his clothing brushing against my bare skin in the process. A shudder runs from the top of my head to the tips of my fingers. You did that on purpose. _

_ He moves around to the bed and knocks a finger against one of the wooden posts. “I had small cameras attached to each of the posts. I want to see if the videos shot from these angles, without the freedom of movement, can still produce an aesthetically pleasing imagery. Many of the sets have similar designs to this one. If the set-up works, these cameras would negate the need for cameramen on some of the more basic shoots. With the extra time available to dedicate to the editing process, we could almost double our output. Impressive, wouldn’t you say?” Smiling, he gives the wood another tap. _

_ “Why am I here?” I ask. Blunt questions get the quickest responses. That’s what you taught me. _

_ “Because, we need to have a rudimental test run of how this will function realistically. Now, go kneel on the bed, Saruhiko.” _

_ I do as I’m told, but I can’t help shaking, sweat dripping down my face and back. What are you going to do to me? I don’t know what you’re thinking or what you’re planning. I hate it. I hate not knowing. Each and every time is a new hell. I hate it so much. I hate being afraid all the time. I hate the blinding, overwhelming pain. But more importantly, I hate  _ you.

_ When I’m in position, I close my eyes. I wish the bed could eat me alive, transport me anywhere but here. I know that won’t happen, but I wish it could. There is no monster under the bed ready to chew me up and swallow me down. There is no boogeyman, no big bad wolf, no baubas, or ocu, or baboulas, or whatever the hell stories parents tell their children to make them behave and do what they’re told. I'm not a kid anymore. I know now that there’s no use wishing for imaginary things. In the real world there’s a totally different kind of monster, and he’s real. _

_ “You’re shaking, Saru-chan. Try and relax.” I hear the sound of Yukari’s singsong voice in my ear, but it only makes me tense. “Now, now, that’s not any good. This will hurt if you don’t try harder to calm down.” _

_ “It will hurt either way!” I yell in his direction. Everything Nagare does hurts. Always. It doesn’t matter what he does--it hurts all the time. _

_ A pair of hands gently wrap around my wrists. “You might want to scoot up.” _

_ I immediately move up the bed and allow Yukari to tie my wrists. The material is lax enough for me to bend down and place my head and elbows on the bed, but too tight around the wrists for me to even attempt to pull free. I don’t bother looking at what he ties them to. The material of the bonds are soft, maybe a suit tie or the belt from the robe? Does it really matter? No, not really. They’re tight--that’s what matters. If I struggle hard enough, they will tighten and dig into the bruises on my wrists. _

_ In the quiet of the room, I hear a creak. Wait! Already?! “What’re you doing?!” The words burst out of me, more of a scream than anything else. There is no reply, only the feel of the silk robe as it is pushed up my back. _

_ A large hand rubs at the skin of my waist, the thumb gently pressing into the muscles there. Those hands are Yukari’s. Only he is gentle like this. But if he’s there, where is Nagare? Where is he?! I whip my head back and forth. He’s not here. Where is he?! A brush of lips against my back draws my attention. “Saru-chan,” Yukari whispers against my skin, “relax.” I feel the lips spread into a smile. “Your skin is so beautiful.” The scars are not beautiful! They’re horrible! Stop looking at them! They’re fucking ugly. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” _

_ His hand slips past my waist and down my inner thigh. Not there.  _ Please _. Not again. “P-please,” I choke out the word as his hand slides over me. Stop! My eyes squeeze closed as he cups my balls and rolls them between his fingers. My skin flushes and my breath stutters. His fingers are long, curling around me and softly squeezing. Nrgh. Heat pulses in the pit of my stomach. The feeling is horrible and strange. I shouldn’t feel this way when you touch me. I d-don’t want--“S-stop,” I groan. _

_ “Your body tells me otherwise,” he murmurs. “You should try listening to it, little dove. Your reactions are so lovely. Ah, to be young.” _

_ Everything he does seems so fluid, just one continuous motion as his hand slides onto my dick and twists. Damn it! My hips shift, my upper body falling forward. The movement tugs on the bonds, tightening them. The pain is immediate, forcing out a yelp. Argh! I try to move my hands to relieve the pain, but I can’t focus. Yukari doesn’t care about my pain, he continues stroking me, kissing my back, massaging my hip. I want to stop, but I can’t. Why won’t my body ever listen to me? It never does. Even when I feel him lean back, the hand on my hip sliding down my ass, I cannot force myself to even try and move away from his grasp. _

_ A thick, cool liquid slides down my skin--I know what that is. But why? You just did this to me. He doesn’t answer my unspoken question. Instead, his fingers slide into me, helped by the lube on his fingers; I can’t even tell how many. I know I should care, but I don’t. As his fingers spread inside of me, I lean back, pushing them in deeper, feeling them brush every crevice. I can’t stop myself. The fingers are so hot--my entire insides are on fire. Everything is so hazy. Even the pain in my wrists doesn’t matter, so long as he continues to touch me, nothing does. Through the fog, I hear a voice whisper, “Enter him, I don’t want you touching him anymore.” _

_ Hmm? The hand on my dick slips away. I buck into the empty air without thinking about the meaning. W-wait. What’re you doing? The fingers slip out of me. I have only a moment before I feel the hard pressure beginning to shove its way inside. “Stop,” I wheeze, the word barely a whisper. My skin stretches, it seems as though my whole body is opening to accommodate him. I want you to stop. I don’t want this! My body retaliates against me, pushing back, shoving him in deeper.  _ So good _. His dick presses against everything, filling every part me. I love it so much, this fullness, so much I can’t even breathe. But this is wrong. I can’t like this. I shouldn’t like this. I should hate it. I don’t know! _

_ He pulls back, the slow motion rubbing along my insides. "Please!” I hear my voice as though from far away. I’m not pleading for escape anymore. Just do it again.  _ Please _. A part of him must hear me because he thrusts forward. I choke on a moan. "Yyess. Don't stop."_

_ “Perfect,” I hear the word, but I don’t know who’s talking. “Keep a tighter hold of him.” _

_ What are you talking about? The hands holding my hips slide down to my thighs and firmly grasp hold, pulling me backwards until my body is so tight against his, there is no way for either of us to move. Why aren’t you moving? I shake my head, even as my hips try and fail to move against the strength of his hands. _

_ “Hold him still.” Nagare? The bed dips. What’s going on?! _

_ “Saruhiko.” A hand lays across the spot between my shoulder blades and presses down. My hands slide as he forces me further down, to the point that I can feel the restraints snag against the bedframe. He moves over top of me then, one knee on either side of my upper back. His clothing brushes against me, although he doesn’t put his weight down. It doesn’t hurt yet... but if he sits down… _

_ “Now,” he murmurs. Every part of me quivers at that one word, my heart feeling as though it has frozen, paralyzed. I try to stay still, but despite my terror, I keep trying to push back, although there is nowhere to go. “Let’s see if this angle will work…” _

_ Ten digits, five per each hand. I can feel each and every one. They spread over the skin of my neck, flexing. “Don’t worry, little Saruhiko,” he whispers, “this won’t last long. We have to save time to try it from the opposing side.” _

_ His fingers curl. Lights explode across my vision as I thrash to escape. But there is nowhere to flee. I yank at my restraints, my hands twisting. It hurts. It hurts so much. I don’t know what to do. His fingers tighten and my head goes blank. My chest is so tight, it must be ready to burst. Every inch of my body throbs. My vision spins, the flashing white lights dimming into black. I can’t breathe. I’m going to die. Please let go. Please.  _ Please _. Everything is going dark. Please don’t let me die. I don’t want to die yet. _

I awake with a gasp. Jesus fucking Christ! I gulp in several lungfuls of air, fumbling with the blankets bundled around me so I can reach for my throat. I can’t breath! Where is he?!  _ Where are you?!  _ “Nagare!” 

I hear a pounding at the door. I suck in another gasp of air. God damn it, Gojou! “Go the fuck away, Gojou!” How many times do I have to fucking tell you?

“What the hell are you yelling about in there? Shit man, it’s almost three in the afternoon!”

Who the  _ hell  _ is that? You aren’t Gojou and you sure as hell aren’t Nagare. Hold on...Where am I? A ray of clarity filters through my brain as my breathing finally starts to settle down. For fuck’s sake, Saruhiko. Pull yourself together. I groan and rub at my temples, a headache starting to form behind my eyes. Where are my glasses? I can’t see for shit in here. I blindly reach for the bedside table. My hands skitter over its surface until I come across the spectacles.

“Hey! Did you hear me? Are you okay?”

_ So annoying _ . Shut up will you? I throw the covers off and stand up. I head over to the door and unlock it, throwing it open to glare at the man standing on the other side. I’m all ready to yell, but I stop short, my mouth opening of its own accord. “What the hell are you wearing?”

He flushes, red climbing up his neck. Embarrassment perhaps? “Excuse me?”

Why are you upset? My reaction should be self-explanatory, wouldn’t you say? “Well, we’re indoors and you’re wearing a bowler hat.”

“It’s not a ‘bowler’ hat,” he snaps. “It’s a derby hat,” he finishes with a mumble.

I can only pray that my stare impresses upon you my utter contempt for your reply. “They are the same thing, you dumbass. The only difference is the dialect.”

He frowns at me and I have to wonder if he understands me at all. “‘Bowler hat’ sounds pretentious and old,” he responds. His chest rises and falls with a sigh, whatever anger or abashment seeming to seep away. “Anyways, are you coming down or not? It’s dinner time.”

“No.” My response is immediate. There is absolutely no reason for me to go. I’m not hungry. Even if I was, I would rather watch my skin be cut to ribbons than sit in a room full of strangers, essentially trapped in an enclosed space with no escape route. “Now leave me alone,” I snap, slamming the door in his face.

“Hey!”

Piss off. I lock the door and head over to the dresser. Now, let’s see if there’s something,  _ anything _ , that is worth wearing in here. I hear the steps outside creak. Good, you’re heading back downstairs. That saves me the trouble of having to argue with you. I pull open the top drawer and start sifting through the contents: a pair of sweats, trousers that look like they’d fit a 200 pound gorilla, and a singular pair of jeans to go along with the ones I’m currently wearing. The ones I’m wearing are really loose. Maybe these will fit better? I guess let’s give it a try. Okay, and the second drawer? T-shirts, a button-up that looks as though it’s a decade old, a couple of long sleeve cotton shirts, and  _ a freaking black turtleneck _ . Honestly, what was going through their heads when they picked these out? Why couldn’t I have my clothing again? Evidence was it? What bullshit.

I quickly undress, throwing my old clothes haphazardly into the nearest corner, seeing as there is no laundry basket. I rifle through the remaining drawers until I find some boxers, and start pulling on each article of clothing. The jeans, although a size or two too big, don’t fall off, which is as good a start as any. I throw on a plain black and white t-shirt with a simple star emblem on the front. Finally, I find a pair of plain black socks in one of the drawers and pull them on.

Alright, now for an exit strategy. I need to explore this place from top to bottom. I don’t think leaving this place is going to be as easy as Ishi thinks. particularly not if everyone is watching me like a hawk. I hear the sound of footsteps on the stairs outside. Didn’t I already tell you I’m not coming? There’s a knock at the door. I walk over and lean against it. “What do you want?” I call out.

“Yo! It’s dinner time, buddy. You need to come down. It’s the old man’s orders.”

Old man? Kusanagi? Does he really let you get away with calling him that? “And if I say ‘no’?” Really, what are you going to do about it?

“Will you at least open the door?” he laughs from the other side. “You’re being a bit unnecessarily stubborn, aren’t you? I get it, we are all the same when we first move in. But trust me, it’s a wasted effort, man.”

You and I are  _ nothing _ alike. Don’t compare me to you druggie thugs. I stand up and turn around so I can unlatch the door. I open it and lean against the door frame. Snorting, I comment “What is it with you people and wearing hats indoors?”

Using his forefinger, he taps the brim of his hat and smiles. “Do you like it? I made it myself. The letters of course stand for ‘HOMRA’. Gotta show your pride, right?”

I finally sigh and cross my arms across my chest. “Yeah, sure. What do you want?”

“Well, you shut the door in Dewa’s face. He thought I might have better luck getting you to come out of your cave.”

I snort again. “How so?”

“Dunno,” he responds, the smile never leaving his face, “maybe because I’m used to dealing with stubborn assholes.”

Hmph. I’m not going to argue the validity of your comment because you’re right. I am an asshole. The problem, however, is that I really don’t care. “I don’t see how your ability to deal with implacable individuals is going to draw me into having a meal with you all.”

“Oh it isn’t,” he responds. “But it makes it easier for the message to be delivered.”

“What message?”

“You either come downstairs, or you don’t get to eat. Kusanagi wanted me to let you know. Dinner isn’t a choice here. Chitose tried ignoring the rules when he first got here too. He wasn’t allowed to eat for two days. But everyone caves eventually. It’ll be a lot easier on you if you just give in now.”

Really now? Must I state the obvious here? “There’s a 24 hour pantry. I don’t see how that’s an enactable rule.”

He laughs. Why exactly is that funny? “If you refuse to eat, the pantry gets locked up and only Kusanagi has the key. It means the rest of us have to deal without access to food. You’ll piss off a lot of people going that route.”

Tch. Damn it. Going without food really isn’t my strong suit, even without the complication of having every person in the house loathe me from the very first day. I’ve tried going on hunger strikes before, but it never works out in the long run. Even when I’ve refused to leave my room, Nagare has always found a way to get me to eat, even if that meant having Iwa-san force it down my throat. I’m not useful to him when I’m not healthy. And frankly, I’m not useful to myself. 

“Listen.” I look back at the kid standing in the hallway. “You don’t have to like us, but you do have to live with us, so at least  _ try  _ to be friendly, yeah? I’m Akagi by the way, it’s nice to meet you.” He holds out his hand to me and waits.

I hold out for a full ten seconds, but he doesn’t let up. Alright, fine. I reach out and grasp his hand, his fingers curling around the back of my palm and squeezing. “Fushimi,” I mutter.

He whistles as his fingers skim over my skin, the touch one of unwanted familiarity.  _ Disgusting _ . “You’re hands are soft. Not even a scratch. Have you even held a gat before? You couldn’t possibly have.”

I rip my hand away. “Touch me like that again and I’ll kill you,” I snarl.

His eyes widen. I can’t quite pinpoint it, but there is something in his gaze...some kind of  _ recognition _ ...but that’s impossible. There’s no way he could know who I am. “Alright.” His lips twist into something resembling a smile, but it’s easy to tell it’s forced. “Anyways, let’s get heading downstairs.”

“Hold on. There’s something that you want to say. So say it.”

“Naw, it’s nothing.”

“ _ No _ , say what you want to say or I’m not coming with you.”

He stops at the top of the stairs. The smile droops, the expression wry and almost sad.. “There’s something about you that seems really familiar. Perhaps I’ve seen you somewhere, but I can’t place it.” I am quite positive that you and I have never met. He shakes his head, seeming to discard the image. “I guess it’s just weird how much you’re like the Queen.”

“The  _ Queen _ ? And who is that?” Do I even want to know?

“That’s the name my gang used for the boss’s ‘honorable woman’. The Queen isn’t allowed to be a fighter or a gofer. She’s not even allowed to leave his pad. The boss told me once, ‘a dead bitch is a useless one’. I felt bad for her--it must be miserable being locked up like that. I tried talking to her once, but she told me off, using the exact same words you just did. It’s just weird is all.”

That’s...not weird at all. She probably  _ is  _ a lot like me. Your boss probably wooed her, just as Nagare first wooed me; gaining her trust and her love, until his true nature couldn’t hide any more. I wonder how he took her, what pretty little white lies he told her so he could trap her. Did he beat her? Rape her? Tell her that he would torture and murder her family if she tried to leave? Probably all three. The thought makes my stomach twinge.

“I see,” is all I can think to respond.

I come out of my room and shut the door so I can step over to him. Grinding my teeth, I forcibly uncurl my fingers and place a hand on his shoulder. This is what normal people do, right? At least pretend to care, Saruhiko. If you want to gain their trust, you better. You’ll never get out of here otherwise. 

His head lifts at the feeling of my fingers gripping his shoulder and he grins, for real this time. My chest tightens with a pang of guilt. What is wrong with me?  _ ‘Don’t tell me you actually care about his  _ feelings _ , Saruhiko. The more you care, the more it will hurt when you watch him die.’  _ I know, Nagare. Do you really think I would forget? The last time I tried to make a friend you  _ ruined  _ him. You torched his skin then cut it to pieces, finally giving him relief by shoving his head into a pool of water until even his legs stopped twitching. I watched you personally drag his body off-set, leaving behind a watery blood trail in your wake.

I let my hand fall away and turn my face away. “Lead the way,” I say, impassive.

“So you won’t try and fight me?” I can hear the smile in his voice, but I refuse to look back at those brown orbs. If I do, I’ll see his attempted kindness. And that’s the last thing I need.

“No, it’d be a pain. I’m not in the mood to fight you.”

“Ha! I’d like to see you try!”

I shoot him a quelling glare from the corner of my eye. “Don’t test me. We’re at the top of the stairs. I have no qualms pushing you down them.”

The laughter that follows my comment is loud and carefree, no hint of fear or hesitation whatsoever. I cannot help the twitch of jealousy that flares inside of me at the sound. I follow after him down the stairs, clamping down on the urge to actually follow through with my threat and shove his ass down the stairs. Murder isn’t going to make me less jealous of his independence. Might make me feel better though…

“You’re a funny guy, Fushimi.” Am I now? “Everyone’s probably waiting for us by now. They’re all really curious about you. It’s been a long time since we got a new HOMRA member move into the main house. New members these days are placed in the other two houses. They have more staff on hand to deal with the volatile outbursts and fights. You mustn’t of been a soldier then. Mikoto-san wouldn’t have recommended placement here otherwise.”

I wouldn’t underestimate me if I were you, kid. I’ll bash your face into the floor and let you bleed out if necessary. “I wouldn’t call this a ‘placement’ per-say. I’m not going to be here long. So don’t get used to it.”

“Really?” His tone seems genuinely puzzled. “That’s not what Kusanagi said.”

Oh, is that right? What else did Kusanagi say about me? “What did he tell you?”

“That you’d be moving in indefinitely until further notice.”

_ Indefinitely _ ...ha, sure I will. Interesting, Captain. Do you intend to keep me locked up here forever? You know that’s not feasible. Even if Ishi wasn’t spilling all the intimate details of this operation to Nagare, you know he’d find me one way or another. It’s only a matter of time. “I don’t see that happening, but let’s find out shall we?”

“What do you mean?”

We hit the bottom of the stairs and head towards the kitchen. “Nothing, forget it.”

I follow him through the kitchen and into the dining room. When we step through the doorway, I freeze, seven pairs of eyes swiveling to stare directly at me. My stomach rolls, fear darting through my body. What do you want? What are you going to do to me? I can’t fight you all, not if you come at me together. I need to get out of here. I need to run.  _ Run _ . If I don’t you’ll tear me apart, won’t you? Just another person’s whore, until you decide to toss me away and kill me?

Mr. Bowler Hat huffs from his seat, drawing my attention. “He didn’t slam the door in your face. What makes you so special?”

Akagi lifts his hand and gives the other boy a peace sign. “What can I say? I’m magic.” I can almost hear the wink in his words.

“Funny. Really, what did you say? I didn’t even get a name from him.”

No one said you’d  _ all  _ be here. I thought only three of you were home. And where is Misaki? Kusanagi doesn’t care for me and why should he? He has no obligation to give a shit about me outside of the Captain’s request. I doubt he’ll actually protect me if push comes to shove. My left foot slides back. I have the advantage, the door is behind me and Akagi is in front of me. There is no one to block my way. I don’t doubt I can outrun them. Akagi chuckles, “Well,” he says while he twists his head, “that’s--” his voice trails off. “What’s wrong? You look like you’re ready to bolt.”

Kusanagi stands up from his seat, a sigh seeping from between his lips. “He is. Would you all stop staring like a bunch of school kids? Geez.” He steps around the table and heads towards us. “Akagi-kun, go take a seat.”

“But-”

“Go on. Thank you for your help.” He smiles as he gets closer. “Sorry about this lot, Fushimi. They still don’t know proper manners.” Your words aren’t helpful. Smiles are all well and good, but they are meaningless. I slide my other foot back. “No one here is going to attack you.”

“Shut up,” I hiss. “I’m not some wild animal you need to soothe.”

“Now now, that’s not what I was trying to do.” The blond glances at the boy still standing there staring at me. “Shouhei, what did I say?”

“Sorry, old man, but I don’t think Fushimi likes you.” Turning fully around, he meets my stare head-on. He lowers his voice and murmurs, “I was right, wasn’t I?”

The question distracts me, at least for a moment. “About what?” I snap. What the hell are you talking about?

He lowers his voice more, I assume in an attempt to try and make this conversation private--an impossibility in a room this small. “You weren’t a fighter. You were, um,” he pauses, pursing his lips in an attempt to find the right words, “like my Queen?”

I’m not part of gang, although my position is equatable to hers; not that you would know that. Particulars aside, I try and think through the pros and cons of this scenario as quickly as possible. I could simply tell him ‘no, mind your own business’. But in a house this small, rumors are going to spread. Even if I tell him ‘no’, even if I lie and tell him I am a “fighter”, I get the feeling these boys aren’t going to be so easily convinced. 

These guys grew up in gangs. They know a gang’s mechanics, its hierarchy. They know how to actually shoot a gun, which I have never done. At least if I tell Akagi ‘yes’, then I can easily fabricate the illusion that I was part of a gang, just not an active member. Better for them to believe I was a drug pin’s bitch than to know what type of organization my master actually runs. People are no better than animals, following their base instincts, and men are the worst of the lot. You all are no different. If you find out what I truly am, I’m done for.

“Yes,” I say clearly. “I am.”

“It’s okay, man.” He takes a step forward and leans in, whispering, “Most of the guys here are straight, Fushimi. You don’t have to worry about that here, okay? Any behavior like that gets you kicked out or sent to the clink. They don’t tolerate that shit here.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” I mutter in response. My chest fills with air as I finally manage to calm my fluttering heartbeat and still my determinedly wayward legs. It’s encouraging to hear that not everyone will want to fuck me. Then again, I’ve heard that before. There has been more than one 'straight’ man who has tried to rape me. Those particular situations were only defused because of Nagare, and he isn’t here to protect me this time if several of you decide you want to give dick a try. I don’t want to have to fight.

Kusanagi rubs his face with one hand. “Will you two please go sit down now?" He gives the room a full sweep with his gaze. "Yata is at the bar going through the opening operations. If you’re late, it won’t be me you have to contend with, but him.”

The bar? That’s ‘work’? No wonder why this house is run on such an odd time schedule. I look out at the others sitting around the table. They have all turned their attention away, pointedly ignoring us and eating their dinner. The last two open seats are at the end of the table near the open door. Akagi goes and sits down, allowing me to take the seat closest to the doorway. Whether he’s pitying or sympathetic, I can’t be sure. I’ll take it either way.

I pick up my fork and prod at the meat on my plate. I would have preferred to serve myself. I don’t need all this. “So, Fushimi is it?” I look across the table at the guy on the opposing side. It’s the first time I’ve noticed, but he’s wearing a pair of sunglasses. Sunglasses...inside...None of you make any sense. “Do you have a first name?” he continues.

I set my fork down. “Yes," I respond.

He stares at me expectantly. “ _ Okay _ ,” he says when he realizes I’m not going to talk any more. “So what group are you from?”

What gang? “None.”

His eyebrows furrow. Although I can’t see the emotion in his eyes, it’s obviously confusion. “Then why are you here?” I can hear the others in the room go silent. Everyone wants to know who I am. But I won’t tell you. Not ever. At least not the whole truth.

The lie comes to me easily, the words a fitting parallel to what I should be, but what I will never become. “I’m a rat. I’m here because I broke from my cage and now they want me dead. Simple as that.”

I disregard them all as I turn back to my meal and pick up my fork to resume eating. Yes, it really is just that simple.


	15. Into the Fire Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Waiting two months between posts wasn't my intention; however, I had to live out of a hotel for weeks while construction workers totally destroyed and rebuilt my bathroom and kitchen, etc, etc -.- uuuggghhhh...
> 
> Anyways, this is just the first part of the chapter. It will probably be another two weeks before part two goes up. There are three scenes minimum in the second half of the chapter that are still unfinished (there is a lot going on), so it is going to take some time.
> 
> Thank you for your patience T.T

Every person around the table, save Kusanagi, has large scoops of food shoved into their mouth, bits of half chewed meat and gravy dripping from the corners of their mouths. They’re like a bunch of rabid animals--almost as if they’ve never seen food before. They’re worse than Gojou. I didn’t think that was possible. I turn my attention back to Akagi when he nudges my side and points to a large hefty boy. “That over there is Kamamoto. Next to him is Fujishima Kousuke.” He turns and points towards the far end of the table. “You’ve met Dewa already.” Ah yes, Mr. Bowler hat--the one fervently stabbing me with his eyes. How  _ very  _ nice to see you again. “That guy there is Chitose Yo and the scrawny pretty boy next to him is Erik.”

Erik looks up from his plate, strands of blond hair sliding off his cheek and revealing one lustrous blue eye. The look in that brightly colored orb is... _ peculiar _ . Empty isn’t appropriate but neither is guarded. It is near impossible to analyze, even for me. ‘Scrawny pretty boy’ is a very apt conjecture, nevertheless, I get the distinct impression there’s more to it than that. The strange look in his eyes and the discernable dark scar lining his throat are too notable to presume otherwise. You know Erik, you are just his type. You better hope that Nagare never catches sight of you while I stay here. Tall, lean pretty boys are his speciality. I would know. I am one.

“So Fushimi-kun, tell me, why did you leave ‘the cage’? Why did you come here of all places? Did Mikoto pick you up?” I follow the sound of the voice. Ah yes, the boy with the sunglasses and...hold on, are you also wearing a baseball hat under the hood of your sweatshirt? Dear Gods strike me down. Why would you send me here of all places? I don't understand these people in the least.

“Bandou!” Kusanagi snaps. “Inappropriate."

“I was just asking a simple question.”

“No, you’re prying. Stop it. He’s under no obligation to tell you anything."

“Fushimi.” The word passes my lips so softly, I don’t think anyone hears me. But, surprise, surprise...

"What?" Bandou asks.

I clear my throat and meet his gaze head on, or at least what I presume is his gaze. My face muscles twitch and I fight off the urge to glower at him. “Fushimi.”

“Uh--”

Wipe that stupid look off your face, dumbass. I wouldn’t be surprised if drool started dripping from your gaping jowels. And for the love of God take the damn glasses off! “Don’t call me Fushimi-kun. We aren’t friends. We haven’t even been properly introduced.”

"I'm Bandou Saburouta,” he responds immediately. “It’s nice to meet you. What’s your name?”

I put down my fork. Why am I even bothering trying to eat? You want my life story? Where am I from? Who am I? Why did I ‘rat’ out my master? What are my motives? Okay, I’ll tell you--let’s do this now while everyone is here. That way I don’t have to repeat myself. “Fushimi Saruhiko. I am 19 years old. My father abandoned me and my mother was a whore. She died from an overdose when I was a child. I am here by circumstance, not choice. I have never met Suoh Mikoto nor had any association with him.”

My lips twist into something one could mistake for a smile, but the look is unkind, or better yet, vicious. "Is that what you wanted to know?” I continue, my tone betraying my inner contempt. “I can tell you more if you’d like.” I know you want to ask. Come on.  _ I dare you. _ “Or perhaps you’d like to know how many people I’ve killed, if any at all? Or rather, do you want to know how many people have died as a direct result of something I have done? That is a  _ very _ long list. But I’ll tell--”

“ _ Fushimi _ .” Kusanagi's voice cuts through my words. The air in the room has grown heavy and thick, and yet not a single word is being spoken. We have everyone’s attention now, don’t we? I glance over at him and see the stern look of warning he is sending my way. "That’s enough,” he finishes.

“If you’d rather I not talk,” I murmur in response, “then learn to control your charges.” I push away from the table and begin to stand up.

“ _ Fushimi _ ,” he repeats, “you need to sit down. You may not like it, but there are rules here and you will follow them.”

I look into his eyes and see the demand in them--not just a demand, but a _challenge_. He has dealt with this behavior before, that is apparent. If I walk away, if I cannot curb my attitude, he’s going to watch my every move, even more so than he is now. And if that happens...my chance to escape will never come.  _ Damn it _ . Sit your ass back down, Saruhiko, before you insight even more unwanted attention. Nagare taught you how to keep your trap shut, so do it.

I sit back down in my seat and pick up the fork once more. No one tries to talk to me again for the duration of the meal. I am grateful for at least that small bit of solace.

~

It's like being in school: the bell rings and the children scatter. As soon as everyone finishes their meals and clears their dishes, it's a mass exodus. Everyone is running around the house, grabbing jackets, book bags, socks and shoes and racing out the door. Even Kusanagi is in a frenzy. I go down the hallway and head towards the stairs. At the bottom of the staircase, I stand off to the side and watch. A few sideways glances and an offended grunt are about all I get out of the boys as they leave. Even Akagi can only muster a half smile as he passes by me and out the door.

Once everyone has left, the house is quiet; only Kusanagi hangs back. He steps up to me and looks down at me. “Yata will be back in less than an hour to keep an eye on you. Think you can control yourself until then?” He’s close. Too close. I meet his eyes, keeping the look as blank as possible.

“Of course,” I respond. Now step away from me. I will follow your instructions, but if you continue to invade my space like this I will retaliate.

“I am sure I don’t have to remind you, but you aren’t to leave this house. Do you understand?” His eyebrow arches, a clear indicator of open mockery if I’ve ever seen one.

“Yes,” I respond. “I’m not sure where you think I can go. You seem to think that I have somewhere to run off to. I don’t even know where 'here' is."

“Heh,” he smiles. “You are an interesting person, Fushimi. I have to give you that. Okay, well try not to get into trouble. If you need to get ahold of anyone, there is a phone and a list of numbers in the kitchen. I’ll be back around 3 a.m..” He turns away and heads out the door. I hear the sounds of locks sliding into place. 1 click. 2 clicks. And a third. There is a final beep and then silence. If there are that many locks, how dense must the door be? Bullet-proof, maybe even bomb proof?

Either way, that final beep is my signal. I start the house exploration. I go through each and every room that is open to me, examining locks, windows, drawers--anything and everything I can get my hands on. The glass on all of the windows is thick, thicker than anything I have ever seen. The back door is just as heavily locked as the front, even more as a matter of fact. There is a heavy metal gate blocking this entrance in a way the front door is not. The windows on the first floor and in the basement are similarly armored. 

There is additional armament, cords and wires running along the edges of the floors, into the doorways and windows unseen. It must be their security system. This place is armored almost as strongly as my apartment. Then again, everyone who lives here is an ex gang member. I suppose these measures are necessary. Leaving your gang can be dangerous business. At least that’s what I have to approximate from the little I know. Old TV shows and an occasional mention in a book aren’t much to go on.

I end my search in the library and study room. Considering the environment, the library is extensive. It probably contains as many books as my own, although the list of available categories here is quite different than my own.

Hold on now. 

If even my  _ clothing  _ is evidence, does that mean all of my books are too?  _ Damn  _ fucking _ police _ . Over half of those books were specifically marked, highlighted and notated, accounting for nearly a decade of study and research. If they don’t allow me to take some of those back, I am going to be livid. Sure, Nagare can replace them, he has enough money to buy me an entire library if he so chose; but that will not account for all of the work I've done. I'll have to bring it up with that asshole down at the police station when I see him next. I can't imagine the cops will leave me alone for any length of time anyways.

I move away from the books and head further in. A long table with half a dozen chairs sits in the middle of the space, while a desk with two screens and keyboards lines the back wall. Are those computer screens? They are incredibly thin. Are they new or old? Stepping over, I examine the screens first before moving below the desk and investigating the main hard drives. It isn’t much different from what I remember. Some additional outlets and plugins, clearly more storage and a stronger, more extensive network and graphics set-up. Ah, here we are. Year of manufacture: 2010. Certainly not the newest model; however, in comparison to what I used to work with, this machine is nothing short of a powerhouse.

I climb out from under the desk and press the ‘Enter’ button on each keyboard. There are five to six login names on both computers, one for each member of the house, plus Mikoto and Anna. Why would those two have accounts? Are they really here that often? I have yet to see either of them yet. Granted, I haven't even been here a full day yet. 

I try clicking on each user, but all of them are password protected, and there is no guest account available. There’s not much I can do at this point, which is unfortunate. I had been hoping to explore a computer one last time before going home. I miss it. But I have no knowledge of these newer systems, and I’m not about to try and hack in or tear apart the computer to try and get in. If I did that, the others in the house would be pissed out of their skulls. Maybe I can convince Kusanagi to let me on... _ and then he and all of the cops will be hounding me to crack into Nagare’s websites _ . Oh well, I guess it's better this way.

I leave the study and head back upstairs to my bedroom. I shut the door behind me, but don’t bother locking it. No one’s here, and even if they were, they now know better than to try and bother me. Six days and counting, Nagare. Try not to let me down. I know, and I know you know this, but there really is no time limit. 1 day, 2 days, 6 days, 2 weeks, 3 months, it doesn’t matter. I will come back to you no matter the length of time; nevertheless, even if I am destined to return to you, staying here with these people is a mistake. The longer I stay in this house, surrounded by these people, the harder it’ll be when it comes time to leave. This is why you don't let people show concern, Saruhiko. You know what happens when you do.

I lay on top of the covers and close my eyes. Escaping this house is going to be a hell of a lot harder than even I anticipated. This isn't just a matter of cutting a few wires and disabling the alarms. There are only two doors. It is impossible not to be noticed, not unless they are all out of the house. Kusanagi was clearly hesitant to leave me alone by myself for even an hour. In his defense, I _am_  currently considering how to best accomplish the very act he was insinuating I was doing in the first place...how wonderfully ironic.

~

“Saruhiko? You awake?” Hmm? What? My eyes crack open. Did I fall asleep  _ again _ . Jesus. I rub my eyes under the lenses of my glasses and sit up, sans covers. Apparently, I didn’t bother getting under the covers, or even change clothing for that matter. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It’s fine.” I’ve done nothing but sleep for over a week now anyways. I swing my legs off the bed and look at the auburn haired boy standing in the doorway. Your hair used to be a more burnished shade of red. Did you know? The brown in your eyes also wasn’t so overpowering. The yellow and green in them were more distinct, more noticeable. I always thought they were beautiful, even now with the diminished colors, they are beautiful. There is an animated quality about your eyes that mine will never have. I always hated the way I looked as a child: too  skinny, too tall, too pale, hair too dark, eyes too stark--unlike you in every way, an undeniable dichotomy which divided us in a way that couldn't be ignored. It was probably one of the reasons why our classmates despised me but loved you.

“Can I sit on the bed with you?” He doesn’t look me in the face when he asks; he just stares at the floor as though nothing in this world could possibly be more fascinating. “Anna told me not to get close to you unless I ask.”

What?  _ Why _ ? She was the one who made sure I knew  _ exactly  _ who you were and  _ accepted _ that fact. “Why?” I ask.

He looks up at me, the confusion unmistakable. "She said you might have another attack if I get too close.”

For fuck’s sake. _ That again _ ? “Misaki,” I reply coolly, “the circumstances between when that happened and now are incredibly discriminate. Your mere presence is not going to cause me to have a mental collapse.” Christ, I hope not. I don’t understand precisely how or why it happened the first time. Hell, I don’t even remember anything beyond my initial lunge.

Upon hearing my response, he walks into the room and climbs onto the bed next to me, sliding backwards until he can rest  his back against the closest wall. “I get it, geez,” he frowns. “You don’t have to be such an asshole about it.” I glance down at his hands and notice that they have begun to twitch, his thumb running repeatedly over the top of his hand. That's an interesting nervous tick that you have. You didn't have that when we were kids--I wonder what caused it. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do or say. I don’t know how I’m supposed to act around you. I see you for the first time in years and you try to beat me up and then have this freaky flashback, which was apparently  _ my fault _ . But I don’t know what it is that I did!” He’s breathing heavily, the words having rushed out of him as though speaking in one, long, run-on sentence. 

“I can’t tell you why it happened,” I sigh in response. “I have never experienced a flashback before. To be frank, I don’t even remember it happening.” I send a quick glance over my shoulder and catch sight of his expression. I shouldn’t have done that. That spot on the wall is a good place to focus my attention. Yes, right there. “I can tell you why I attacked you, though. Provided you’d like me to give you an explanation.”

I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees, lacing my fingers in front of my face to hide my expression. ‘Angry’ far from covers what I was feeling at that time. My facial muscles tighten, and I have to consciously resist the urge to grind my teeth. “You have to understand, Misaki. For you, I simply vanished. Whisked away. Kidnapped or abandoned, maybe. I didn’t have that luxury of doubt. There was no reason for me to suspect Nagare of lying. The newspaper article and the photos of the burned building were enough.”

I draw in a deep breath and fill my lungs. My fingers have tightened enough that my knuckles have begun to crack. Nagare, one day I will watch you burn in hell. I will watch the fire devour you and peel away every layer of skin...at least until I am forced to join you in the flames. And when I do, I will pull your body in close against mine until the pain of my burning flesh dissipates, drowned by the sensations of holding your decaying corpse in my arms. What a beautiful, glorious way to spend eternity, isn't it? “I dealt with your death as best as I could and laid your memory to rest,” I continue. “Imagine my surprise when some kid shows up and calls me by a name I haven’t heard since I was child.”

“Hey!” he snaps. “I’m not a kid! Maybe you’re forgetting that you and I are the same age?”

Heh. I choke down a laugh and resist the involuntary compulsion to smile. “Regardless of age, for all intents and purposes, you’ve been dead for the last decade.”

“But--”

“Logic would easily dictate that you and the police were trying to trick me into divulging more information about Nagare. That suspicion, admittedly, made me a bit angry."

"Oh, you were 'angry'? Is that what you call it?” he snorts. I finally twist around to look at him, scooching my leg onto the bed to allow for a better view. When I see his face, the air in my lungs gushes out of me.  _ Misa-chan? _ "Saruhiko?  You okay?”

“Yes, yes of course,” I wheeze. I clear my throat and shake my head, dispelling the imagery. I take in one long, measured breath. Focus. I need to focus on the here and now.

“Hey, Saruhiko?”

“Yeah?”

“What is Nagare like?” He catches my eyes and does not look away. Every facial muscle is tense, although it does not detract from his vibrancy. He is on an entirely different wavelength than I am, isn’t he? “He’s the one who--” he pauses and bites his bottom lip, his eyes blazing as he bites down hard enough to draw blood. “He’s the one who--” he stumbles over the words again and falls silent. Come on loud mouth, you can do it. He licks at the red on his lip and finally finishes with, “He’s the one who  _ bought _ you?"

That's a very considered choice of words. Not as easy as you thought it'd be, is it? Do you really think you can handle it? Are you really ready to discuss this in depth? I don't think you are. “Misaki,” I sigh, “there is no reason for you to feel obligated to ask about it.”

“That’s not what I meant!" he snaps. "It’s not an ‘obligation’!” I can’t help but crack a smile. You are endearingly temperamental, Yata Misaki. Even more than you were twelve years ago. “Please,” he continues, quieter this time.“I want to know.”

I really don’t think we should talk about this. "I know you think your indignant anger is enough to wreck vengeance of some kind, but it's not. If you ever cross paths with Nagare, he will kill you and enjoy doing it. You're better off running."

“That’s not fair!” he retaliates. “You don’t know what I’m capable of!”

"That attitude will get you killed. Listen, Mi--”

“Stop it, Saru.” My voice withers and dies in my throat, without so much as a ‘by your leave'. My heart flits, slowing until it practically stops. His eyes are so  _ alive _ . It is amazing how brilliantly they seem to glow. I know it's not possible, but I want to take that energy-- _ possess _ _ it _ . It is  somehow both indignant and righteous at the same time, utterly unique. "You can’t just avoid it.”

‘Can’t avoid it’, you say? Oh yes I certainly can...but then again, why am I trying to avoid it? What I am hoping to achieve by keeping him in the dark? Will his ignorance actually keep him protected? That is incredibly unlikely. On the other hand, maybe giving him knowledge of what Nagare truly is will help knock some damn sense into that thick fucking skull of his. Okay, fine, I will explain Nagare, although I feel as though I have already explained this.  How many times am I going to have to repeat information to the police, to these jack-offs here at HOMRA, even to the fucking therapist? Maybe I should just get a tape recorder and just do it all in one go. Then I won’t have to repeat myself over and over again. “Nagare is a clever, controlling, narcissistic psychopath.” And that’s the simplified version. Try to keep up, Yata.

“He’s good-looking and charming. There is nothing that he says or does that doesn’t have a purpose. Yet for all that cordiality, most all his words are politely veiled invectives." I stop momentarily when I see the blank fog pass through his eyes.  _ Argh _ _, stupid dumbass._ “It means that he is incredibly manipulative and that you shouldn’t trust anything that he says. He is incredibly strong and is quick to punish or torture when disobeyed, even if it is something insignificant.”

I pause just long enough to take note of the expression on his face and ensure he is following along. "Even if I have a weapon, Nagare can--” what are words that you’ll understand?--“Kick my ass. It would take him very minimal effort to kill me. The only reason why I am alive is because he wishes it.” Are you beginning to understand now, Misaki? Forget about him and what he has done. I will leave here soon, and you will have to let it go, whether or not you like it.

“So, what?” he growls. "Nagare is just some crazy, psychotic freak who keeps you around because he likes t-to--” he stumbles to a stop and sits back, biting his lip again. He seems to lose his courage then, because he drops his eyes and turns his gaze away from me. Can't say it, can you? I  _knew_ you couldn't handle talking about this. I should have just shut down your questions from the start.

“He likes to fuck me, yes.” He makes a low sound in his throat that is somewhere between human and beast. _Stop that_. You are really starting to irritate me. I appreciate the anger on my behalf, but I'm not here to be your damn therapist and help you deal with your anger problems. You already have one of those. “ _ Yata _ ,” I warn. “You being angry isn’t going to change anything. These are facts. You cannot change them or spin them a different way because they make you uncomfortable. You either want to know or you don’t. In either case, I am done talking about this. And if you have nothing else to say, you can get the hell out. I've had enough of this."

My words cause those hazel eyes of his to swivel back to mine, the lids narrowing and the muscles in his cheeks spasming as though holding back a loud tirade. “You’re such a bastard.”

“You’re only just now realizing this?” I murmur. “You really are a dumbass.” I can’t help myself. The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

“Shut up!" His hands snake out and grab hold of my shirt before yanking me forward. What the hell?! “I don’t care if you are family!” he screams in my face. “I’ll lay you out right here! If you’re so tough, say it again!" Now there's some spunk. I should be scared right now, but I am as far from that as humanly possible. “Are you  _ smiling _ ?!”

“Yeah,” I chuckle. “I guess I am.” His hand loosens and his fingers fall against my chest, utterly listless. Look at that dumbfounded face of his. How adorable. "Why don't we stop talking about my charming personality?" He let's out a derisive snort at that. "Let's talk about something else instead?"

“Like what?" 

There are a thousand and one ways to answer that. But there is only one honest reply. "How about we talk about you instead?"


	16. Into the Fire Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am alive. Shocking I know. All I can say is--
> 
> 1\. Don't remodel--it takes forever  
> 2\. Don't leave out any smooth cords if you have cats--they will eat your computer cords and you will be stuck writing on a teeny tiny laptop T.T 
> 
> This chapter ended up becoming a book within a chapter so it took a while to figure out what could stay and what had to be moved out to the next chapter. Fortunately, I have most of it figured out now...most of it...hahahha T.T

That’s a _lovely_ shade of red. Your cheeks and your hair make such a wonderful match. “I--uh, well, that’s--”

“Eloquent. You should write poetry.”

“Shut up!” I can’t help myself. I smile again, choking back a snort in the process. “What are you laughing at?!”

“I’m just happy that you haven’t changed,” I reply. As the words pass my lips, the actual meaning of them registers. What if you had changed beyond recognition? What if you were no longer Misaki, no longer _my_ Misa-chan? What if you had changed into someone I didn’t know, let alone liked? You’re certainly more temperamental, quicker to lash out and get defensive. Nevertheless, the important parts of you haven’t changed, even the way you flush when embarrassed is the same. My heart thumps, my chest oddly warm. The feeling is not one I completely understand. ‘Relief’, maybe? ‘Happiness’, even?

His head cocks to the side, his eyes glazing with confusion. “What do you do mean?”

“It’s been such a long time,” I murmur. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be anything like the person I used to know.”

“That’s stupid,” he snaps.

Pardon? Care to say that again? “What?” I question, my upper lip unintentionally curling.

“Don’t give me that look,” he responds, pouting, indignant even. “Of course I’m not the same as I was when I was a kid. But it doesn’t mean I’m a completely different person either. That’s what happens when you grow up.” Hmph. Is that your tidbit of wisdom for the unwise? “I mean, just look at you.”

“What about me?” I instantly snap back.

His lips spread, smirking, before he reaches out and shoves at my shoulder. “You were a lot nicer when we were kids.”

“Yeah, well--” hold on, wait a minute. You’re distracting me. Knock it off! “Enough about that. I don’t want to talk about me anymore. What I really want to know is how you ended up here. I don’t even really know what HOMRA is. Care to explain?”

“No one told you what HOMRA is? Seriously?!” He rolls up onto his knees, sitting back on his heels so he can face me directly.

Do I look like I’m being facetious? “No, they didn’t. No one told me much of anything. I’ve had to make my own deductions.” For instance, I am guessing that this Mikoto person I keep hearing about was the one who dug you out of whatever shit hole you fell into after getting involved with drugs and gangs. I’d love to hear more of _that_ story.

“It’s where we get to show our pride!” Reaching up, he pulls down the edge of his shirt and reveals a bright red tattoo at the base of his collar bone. “Everyone who lasts the first six months gets one. We’re a family!” My skin goes cold. _So you found a suitable replacement, huh? Good for you._

He lets go of his shirt and glances away from me, his face drooping and his body hunching over, deflating. Your emotions are so dramatic--swinging between high and low without a stop in-between. It’s hard to keep up, Yata. Have you considered trying to stay at one emotional level for more than a few minutes at a time? “I did a lot of stupid shit after you disappeared," he continues in a mumble. “First you left and then mom got remarried. Her and that man started a new family without me. She didn’t care about me, so I didn’t care about her either.

“Until I met the Kyodai, I really didn’t have anyone.” ‘Kyodai’? Is that the name of your old gang? “They were the only ones who seemed to give a shit. So I took whatever they gave me and pushed around whatever they needed me to…” he trails off and bites his bottom lip again. This must be another new habit you’ve developed. There appears to be many of these new nervous ticks. What has got you so twitchy? Side effects from the drug usage, maybe? “I was blitzed out of mind most of the time. I hardly remember who I slept with, what I was on, or what I did. I don't even remember how I got myself thrown into juvie.”

 _What?!_ “You were in _jail_ ?” How fucking _stupid_ are you?!

“Heh.” His gaze rises; the look is self-deprecating, perhaps deservedly so...“I got caught up in a drug bust. I was too high to really remember what happened. Not that it mattered. I was charged with assaulting an officer, drug peddling and possession, even bribery.”

My eyebrows lift of their own accord. Provided all of those charges stuck, it sounds like you should still be behind bars. “And then what? All of those charges and yet you still managed to get out of jail. You obviously aren’t a complete dumbass. How’d you accomplish it?”

“Oi!” he yells. “Shut it! It wasn’t like that. Do you know what detoxing is like?! Fuck!” The words seem to set him off, because he begins scratching at his wrists, hard enough that the skin reddens and swells. Would you stop that? You’re going to hurt yourself doing that. Hell, your habits are starting to make _me_ twitchy.

My fingers snake out and grasp hold of his. The command I give him is firm and straight to the point, “Stop. That’s enough of that.” _Amazing_ . The skin of his hand is so... _soft_. I can’t help running my thumb over top of it and pressing down, the bones shifting slightly beneath the pressure. The feeling is a complete opposition to the calluses roughening his fingertips and palms. He remains silent, red flushing up his neck and eventually spreading to his cheeks. Cute, but why are you getting embarrassed? All of this happened a long time ago, right? Does it still bother you that much? “Why are you so nervous?” I finally question.

“I’m not nervous!” he retaliates.

“ _Misaki_ ,” I warn, squeezing his hand tight to get my point across. “ _Don’t_. Lying won’t work on me. I live with people whose hobbies are manipulation.”

“You’re wrong!” he yells, defiant. “It’s hard, okay?!” Feet sliding outwards, he slips down, the motion matching the petulant frown spreading on his face. “When I talk about it,” he continues, slightly less violently, “I have..what does Anna call it…’ _compulsions’_.” The hand in mine spasms, as if to legitimize his words. “They got really bad when--” he trails off, leaving me to pick up the slack.

“When?” I prod.

“When Tatara died,” he whispers. “He was my, uh, social worker. He’s the one who got me out of juvie. When he died, I think I broke every single rule of my probation. If it wasn’t for Mikoto-san and Munakata, I would still be there. HOMRA saved my life.”

I suppose I owe the Captain a _small_ bit of gratitude then. The idea makes my stomach curdle, but someone had to take care of him. If I had been there, would things have been different? Would I have been able to keep you from making all those terrible decisions? I’m sorry, Misa-chan. “That still begs the question. What is HOMRA?”

“It’s a program for ex-gang members,” he answers, clearing his throat. "HOMRA owns multiple different restaurants and bars where we work. Our job covers our room and board. They pay for us to go to school--if we want to anyways. And we all get mandatory counseling sessions to help us deal with our shit. Some of us join willingly, others are here because the court ordered them to.”

His eyes catch my gaze and hold it. I don’t understand what it means, but it makes me nervous. Why are you giving me that look? Did I do something? The hand I’m grasping forcibly twists in my hold, the calloused fingertips spreading around and encompassing my hand. My mind goes blank. You’re holding onto me. _Why_? “You’ll stay, right?” he asks.

“What are you talking about?”

Sharp, jagged nails, uneven and unkempt, dig into my skin. “Saru, you’re going to stay here, right?” The words imply cordiality, but your tone suggests anything but. “After they capture Nagare and lock him up, you’re going to stay here with me, right?”

“Of course.” The lie slips out of me with ease--no thought required. Duplicit, deceitful--I don’t have a shred of decency to share. But that look of fear in your eyes, that undertone of anxiety, even panic, is paralyzing. I have already told you about Nagare. I’m trying to warn you, yet you refuse to hear me. What if I outright tell you ‘no’? Would your face crumble? Would you scratch at your skin, scratch at it until you are raw and bleeding? I will do and say whatever I can to make you happy, Misa-chan. I will lie to you, deceive you, make you believe whatever I need to in order to give you the dream you desire. I may not be a kind and moral human being, but I can at least give you that illusion, even if it’s only for a little while. I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do. I have caused irreconcilable pain doing this in the past. But I cannot bear the idea of being responsible for this too. I can’t.

“Good.”

~

I listen for the click of Misaki’s door before reopening mine and stepping out into the hallways. I glance up at the clock on the wall to see the time. It’s been exactly 4 hours and 27 minutes since everyone left. I can safely assume Misaki is going to be asleep within minutes. Now is my opportunity to go grab some books. There is not a single thing in this bedroom to entertain myself with. I head towards the stairs only to stop when I hear a noise. That’s the front door, isn’t it? Damn it, these people have awful timing.

I sit in my room and wait it out for 30 minutes. When I don’t hear any movement on the stairs, I give up. I’m bored out of my fucking skull. I want at least one book to read and if they aren’t going to go to bed, I suppose I will have to brave the storm. I can’t stay up here forever. I walk down the stairs, keeping as quiet as I can. None of the bedroom doors are open, and all but the stairway lights are turned off. When I reach the main floor, I see that the kitchen light has been left on, but the only noise is coming from the study. _Of course_ that’s where they’d be--not in the kitchen eating, or watching TV, or hanging out together in their bedrooms. They are in the only room I actually want to go into. Bastards.

I step over to the doorway and listen. Thank the gods the floors aren’t squeaking with every damn step. If I’m smart about this, I can use the bookshelves as cover, sneak in, grab something from the shelf and head back upstairs, with them being none the wiser. I slip inside and look at the first shelf. Poetry books and American Literature. Dear God, kill me now. I’d rather have my eyes gouged out. I head further in. Quiet now. The clearer their conversation becomes, the closer I get. I slide along into the second row of shelves. History. I am in the history section. _Shit_. Okay, one more row. If there isn’t anything in the third row, I’m going to have to give up the hunt for now. If I get any closer than that, it is assured that they’ll hear me. I slide along the edge and slip into the third row.

“San-chan,” I hear Akagi sigh.

I freeze at the sound. Did they hear me?

“No, I’m serious! Just give me another minute to find it, okay? The forum post is from years ago. I am going to have to go through a few more pages to get there.”

“ _Okay_. But explain to me one more time how you found this? I’m a bit confused.”

“Well, I-uh, I didn’t find it. Someone told me about it. Yeah, that’s what happened.” That was pathetic. If you’re not going to at least try to make your lie believable, why even bother?

“Uh-huh. Well, I’m glad your _friend_ showed you some good porn sites, but it doesn’t really answer my questions. This is a gay porn site. Heh, is there something you want to tell me?” The smile is evident by the tone, but it is not his jovial attitude that draws my attention. _Gay porn sites_ ? What _exactly_ are you trying to find?

“Well, that’s just--I’m not gay, okay? I was just really curious,” he mumbles.

“San-chan, you know I don’t care about that stuff. If you’re gay, you can tell me.”

“I swear that’s not it! Just hold on for one second! I _know_ I’ve seen him before. It’s been bothering me since dinner.” Seen _whom_ , exactly? What the fuck is going on? “ _Finally_ ! The person who was asking about it only had a short clip, so it took a while for me to remember where I’d seen him. I don’t think anyone ever found what the clip was actually from, although that may be better.” His voice drops down, “The video seems pretty violent. I don’t know who would actually _want_ to watch a porno like this. Seriously, look at this.”

My body moves of its own accord, its movements separate from my brain, which has stopped working. I don’t understand what is happening. The world is narrowing down and growing dim. I wonder if I’m going blind. “See!” Bandou continues. “This clip, here!”

I look at the two boys huddled around the computer. The computer screen glows, and I cannot stop myself from looking. When I see the images flashing across the screen, my body goes numb.

_The chains rattle around my wrists. The sound is too loud. It rings in my ears, bouncing around my skull and pounding to escape. I shift, the drying blood on my inner thighs crusting and scraping against my cool skin. The stone slab beneath me is so cold. So hard and immovable. All I want is my bed. I want to disappear into the softness of the covers and fall asleep forever. “Hiko-chan.” My eyes flutter open. Both of you. You are both here, which can only mean one thing…_

_Nagare’s hand slides along my outer thigh. “Look at you. Saruhiko.” The hand slides inwards, his nails scratching at the blood. “The camera is already running. We have some work to do.” I cannot see his lips through the mask, but he’s smiling. I have no doubts of that._

_“Please,” I whisper. “I’m so tired.”_

_His eyes spark and widen---wild,_ demonic _. “Say it again, my dove. Just a little louder.”_

_My body reacts instantly, every part of me shuddering and beginning to shake. He’s riled again. What did I do? What did I say? Isn’t there anyone out there who will stop this? The pain is going to start all over again. There is no end. “P-please,” I repeat aloud, the word breaking as I shake. “I can’t.”_

_Soft fingertips spread wide, tickling across my thigh. The touch is like poison, burning and spreading across my skin like a splash of acid. The digits press into my muscles, lifting my leg and forcing my hips to twist upwards. The chains rattle once more causing my body to flinch. The sound is my bleak reminder--there is no escape from this hell. “Hiko-chan,” he says louder, “smile for the camera, won’t you?” My head weighs as much as a sack of bricks. I can barely move it. There is no strength left in me to respond or even keep my eyes open. Emptiness. There is nothing but emptiness. “Yukari,” he murmurs, “the wrists.”_

_The chains tug and pull at my already aching arms. The grunt is unintentional--not that Nagare cares. “Tighter, Yukari.” The chains rattle a second before the man at my head yanks, pulling until my shoulder blades nearly tear and forcing me to roll fully onto my back. The motion makes me groan. “Good. Open your eyes, Hiko-chan.” My lids slide open and are at once greeted by a smirk and the glittering colors of Yukari’s face mask. I don’t want to look at what Nagare is doing. I don’t want to know. Warm palms run along my inner thighs and force them open so wide that my hip muscles twitch in retaliation._

_Three fingers. I can feel the pressure of them at my opening. “Yukari,” the name leaves my mouth without my say. “Please.” I’ll do anything. You can fuck me all you want. Tie me up. Whip me. Chain me. Make me come as many times as you want. Just please don’t let him do this. “Please stop.”_

_I choke on a scream. Everything is so raw and ragged. The feeling of your fingers is like fire. It’s already torn! Stop twisting them! “Stop holding it in,” Nagare murmurs. “I want to hear that beautiful voice of yours.” I bite down on my lip. “That’s not what I asked you to do, darling.” The fingers shove back in. Argh! Tangy and metallic, the coppery taste of my blood is sharp, bringing my mind into focus long enough to realize that Nagare has pulled out his fingers once more, curling them against my skin. No...not that!_

_“Nagare." The word is little more than a plea. There is no verbal response, only more suffering._

_I thrash, yowling, futility fighting against the chains. I can’t help it. I can feel the skin shredding itself, trying to accommodate his fist, the blood dripping down my thighs and working hard to cool my skin. It doesn't work. The pain is searing._ Burning _. It doesn’t fit! Stop trying to force it in! “N-Nagare,” I sob out the word like a prayer, a prayer to the only being in this world that hears me. Nagare is the only one who ever listens, but whether or not he decides to entertain my desires is a different matter entirely._

_“Yukari,” he responds. “The gag.”_

_The taste of leather startles me, momentarily bringing my thoughts into focus. What are you doing? You never gag me. Why are you pulling out your fist? My muscles contract at the emptiness, my insides throbbing as though inviting him back inside. My eyes swivel, seeking and failing to find to find my Master. I hear chains rattling, which draws my focus. Yukari is standing next to the slab, metal dangling from his hands._

_He smiles, reaching out to me with one hand, the fingers long and spindly. The softness of his palm soothes down my calf, feather-like, before settling around my ankle. The feeling makes me want to vomit. The first cuff snaps closed around my skin, the second click sounding alongside the slab out of sight. I close my eyes. Within 30 seconds, I hear two more clicks from the other side of the slab. All four of my limbs are now chained down._ Fuck _._

 _‘Clink.’ The sound rings out in the open space. ‘Clink.’ The sound is familiar, familiar and unwelcome. I’ve heard it before, just never before on one of_ my _shoots. The sound is that of hollow metal--one of the most horrific and dreadful sounds imaginable. The sound of a pipe. I don’t shift. I don't move. I do not even attempt to test the give on the chains. My entire body is trembling too hard to even try. I can do this. I can handle this pain. It can’t be any worse than his cock or his fist. It can’t be. It’s not possible._

_Were they not muffled by the thick leather between my teeth, the sounds coming out of my mouth wouldn’t be anything less than animalistic shrieks. I cannot call those strained, stifled cries my own. They are not under my control. It is as though I am floating high above myself, watching the scene unfold. How pathetic I am. How utterly sad and tragic. I’m nothing more than a wounded beast, unable to fly or run or even stand. Broken and in agony. Why doesn’t Nagare just put me down? I’m nothing more than an animal. I may as well die like one._

_~_

_My eyes crack open. Everything throbs. My back, my shoulder blades, my hips, my legs, every muscle is pulsing and twisting, like a never-ending loop of charlie horses, one right after another. I can feel a sticky gel running a trail up my inner thighs and coating my insides--some form of medicine, I guess, to try and salvage what remains of my asshole, although I suspect it is a losing battle. My vision is blurred and my throat is raw and constricted. Am I finally dying? Is this what it feels like? Doubtful. The meds just haven’t kicked in yet. Those assholes probably shoved as much medication down my unconscious throat as humanly possible to try and keep me from a peaceful pass over to the other side._

_“Hiko-chan?”_

_Who in the fuck--? Oh, it’s you. “Mie,” I say, no louder than a whisper. “What are you doing in my bedroom?” And where the hell are your clothes? Shouldn’t you be dressed and ready for pick-up? Nagare told me you were already bought and paid for._

_“Your bedroom? Is that your bed?”_

_I glance down at the comforter and then out towards the rest of the room that is within my sights. God fucking damn it. This is not my room. Hell, this isn’t even Nagare’s or Yukari’s play rooms. This is just another set. Why the hell am I not back in my bedroom yet? The room is furnished with a second bed and camera set up on the far side. Is that for you? I thought you were sold as a take home slave, virginity and all? According to what I last heard, you were being readied to be sent away to your final destination. I’m surprised you’re still here at all._

_She wrings her hands together and looks down at me. “C-can I sleep in your bed with you? I don’t like the other one. It’s big and cold.”_

_“Fine.” There’s enough room. What do I care? Man, woman, adult or child, clothed or naked, I really don’t give a shit._

_A sharp pain runs behind my eyes and through my skull. Damn it! I close my eyes against it, not moving, ignoring the dip of the bed as the small girl climbs on. I let the wave pass before opening my eyes again. I’m met by a pair of wide, brown eyes boring into my own. Umm...What is it? When she sees that she’s gotten my attention, she slides in closer. It is instantly apparent what it is that she wants. My body is tearing me apart from the inside out and you want to cuddle? Jesus Christ._

_You aren’t the first child, and you certainly won’t be the last, who comes through this place looking for someone to hold on to. It's a regular occurrence here, it just doesn't usually happen to me. Nagare usually doesn’t allow them to get close enough. “Hiko-chan, I’m scared.” Don’t give me that look--that wretched stare as though I'm your only lifeline in the entire world. "I don’t understand what’s happening.”_

_Alright,_ f ine _, but just for a while. Frankly speaking, you’ll probably be gone by the time I wake up anyways. The pain is slowly lessening bit by bit as the drugs work their way through my body. Once they fully kick in and I pass out, it will be a while before I wake up again. Last time this happened, I was out for almost 2 full days. I lift my left arm, the limb heavy, aching, and bruised, and allow her access to come closer. She immediately slides in as close as she can and curls herself against my bare chest, laying her head atop my right arm. Hissing at the movement, I allow my other arm to settle back down around her back, trying to avoid the bruises on my arm as much as humanly possible._

_Mmm, her skin is surprisingly warm. Nagare and Yukari never feel like this. Their body heat and the feeling of their skin beneath my fingertips is never gentle or comforting.  But her skin is. The feeling is strange, and yet, somehow familiar. “Hiko-chan?”_

_"Yeah?"_

_“Do you think my parents miss me?”_

_“Of course.” The lie slips out, but I do not try to correct it. If they really missed you, they wouldn’t have left you to die. They wouldn’t have sold you off to Nagare like fucking cattle to be slaughtered. I don’t know why they sold you off. Nagare didn’t tell me. Drugs? Debt? “I’m sure not a day goes by when they don’t miss you and worry about you,” I murmur. “They are your parents and they love you. They will never stop looking for you.” They won’t even bother to try. They don’t give a shit. They took the money and ran. Hell, they are probably disappointed they didn’t have more children to sell off. They’re deplorable human beings._

_“When they find me,” she says quietly, almost as if she were telling me a secret, “will you come with me? Mommy and Daddy are never home. I always wanted a big brother.”_

_WIll I...come with you? Be your big brother and take care of you? You’ve only known me a few days. Why would you ask that of me? Don’t you know what this place is? Don’t you know what is going to happen to you? We won’t ever escape from this life. You just don’t know it yet._

_She stares at me, expectantly, waiting for a response. I could tell you ‘no, fuck off’, but then, what kind of person would that make me? Cruel? Honest?_ Heartless _? “Y-yes,” I finally respond, “I’ll come with you. I’ll take you to the movies and the library. We’ll play games every day. I’ll read you books at bedtime and sing you songs to help you fall asleep.” The thought makes my teeth clench down, furious tears pressing against the back of my eyes. Those were the things I always wanted, the things I thought I’d finally get when Nagare brought me home._

_“Okay,” she responds, her lips tilting up as she smiles against my chest. “You’re nice, Hiko-chan. I like you. You really are like a big brother.”_

_You need to stop right now. Please stop talking. You and I will never have the happy, easy-going life you are imagining. You’re still just a child. How old are you again? Seven maybe? I don’t remember and I don’t want to remember. You don’t understand what is happening right now and it’s not your fault. Your parents are fucking trash and they deserve to rot in hell. They don’t deserve your love._

_She’s silent for a few moments, and then she finally opens her mouth and says again, her voice tiny and shrinking, “Hiko-chan, I really am scared." She presses herself against me as much as she is able. Her body is ridiculously small; I can barely feel it. She's so very small, small and frail. "What’s gunna happen to me? Nii-san told me that someone is coming to take me away. H-he said they’re going to be my new family. I don’t want a new family--I want my Mommy and Daddy. Will my new family like me? Are they nice like you, Hiko-chan?”_

_No, they aren't nice. They aren’t nice at all. But I’m not nice either; consequently, I am a very poor choice of comparison. “I’m sure they are. I’m sure they’ll love you. Don’t worry, Mie. Everything will be okay.” The lie tastes like ash--ash and dirt and shit all swirled into one. Despite how horrid the lie is, it is the only comfort I can offer you. Nothing that I own would improve this situation or make you feel any better. All I have are my lies. "You’ll be okay. Don't worry. I’ll watch over you. You don’t have to be scared anymore.”_

_After hearing my words, she relaxes against me. “I hope you can stay with me and watch over me forever. You’re safe and warm. You’re just like Mommy.” I am no one’s mother. I cannot even care for myself. I hurt all the time. The only thing holding me together right now is the overwhelmingly high dosage of medication that is slowly subduing the pain radiating from every inch of my body. She smiles and mumbles, “I’m sleepy.”_

_“Well,” I snort, “if you’re tired, then go to sleep.” That is the obvious solution, wouldn’t you say?_

_“Okay,” she responds simply. She yawns again and shifts in my arms. “Goodnight, Hiko-chan.”_

_“Goodnight, Mie."_

_She is asleep in mere minutes, her deep breaths tickling my chest. The feeling should be disruptive, but it is oddly soothing. My hand skims over her back and up to her shoulders. Her dark hair is surprisingly thick and course, a strange contrast to the smooth look of it. Despite its unpleasing texture, the weight of it in my hand is a welcome one. I run my fingers through it, rubbing the black strands between my thumb and forefingers. My mind starts to wander and my vision goes dim. The girl in my arms sighs, adjusting her position before lying still once more._

_This feeling, it's..._ peaceful _. My_ _mind is, for once, surprisingly quiet. It has been so long since I’ve held anyone like this, so long I’d forgotten how good it could feel. There has only ever been one person I could hold onto and truly depend on. One. And you passed away a long time ago. I miss you. I miss you so much that I cannot even speak your name. But with my eyes closed like this, I can almost pretend it’s you._ Almost _. Yet this child in my arms is depending on me,_ clinging _to me, in a way that only you ever did. Shouldn’t that count for something?_

_Having a little sister wouldn’t be so bad. It might actually be nice. Any child who is not Gojou is an improvement as a younger sibling. I know Nagare said he sold her, but maybe he’d reconsider. Why sell her off? Why not add her to the family instead?_

_The thought putters off. What was I thinking about again? Everything seems to be moving slowly, sludge-like. I’m so exhausted. Sleep has already come. I just hadn’t realized it._

_~_

_"Nagare,” a voice mutters, “what is your pet doing?_ That _there is mine.”_

 _“Your thought process is baffling,” Nagare chuckles. “In what way is anything here_ yours _? Everything here belongs to me until my say so. You should feel honored that I am sharing any of my precious things with you at all.”_

_“I paid good money for her. If he’s defiled her in any way, you better get me a replacement.”_

_“My dear friend, you have nothing to fear from him."_

_The words drift through my brain, but everything is muddled and unclear. I don’t understand. I don’t open my eyes. Trying to throw off sleep, I am instead greeted by a fresh wave of burning fire roaring over my skin. Fuck! The medication is reaching the end of its limits. My muscles pulse and my head pounds, pain jabbing at me from every side. Argh!_

_“Ah, my darling dove. Have you finally decided to join the world of the living? If you’re awake, why not open your eyes? Come now, open your eyes." My crusted lids crackle open, Nagare’s bright, luminous orbs staring directly into my own. He isn’t happy. What’s going on? Why are you angry? I sincerely hope that the gods are merciful today--let him be angry with anyone but me. “It’s time for Mie to be on her way home. And it’s time for you to go back to your bedroom.”_

_I glance at the man standing next to Nagare._ Him _? You can’t give her away to_ him _. He’s 250 pounds of fat and filth. I know I shouldn’t, it will mean punishment later on; nevertheless, I tighten my arms around the sleeping girl in my arms, pushing through the agony with teeth clenched. Nagare’s eyes briefly widen, his lips quirking at the corners. To an outsider that look may seem innocent enough--I know better. Nagare is fucking amused. With Nagare, amusement and anger are equally terrifying and dangerous._

_“What?” he questions playfully. “Do you like this one? Should we keep her?”_

_“Oi!” the man shouts from his side._

_“Or are you sad that you can’t take her place?” He steps over to the bed, smiling all the while. I can’t help myself. I shrink back, pulling Mie to my chest as though that will somehow protect us both. He stops, leaning down towards my face. Lowering his voice, he murmurs congenially, "Release her and I will give you your medication. Refuse to release her, and I will tie you to your bed and leave you there while your body tries to heal itself. I don’t mind waiting.”_

_I let go._

_My fingers shake as I release first her hair and then her shoulders. All I can see is the grey of Nagare’s eyes as he rouses her, pulling her from the bed gently with an oily smile that makes me queasy. “Now wasn’t that a fun game, Saruhiko?”_

_“No.”_

_“That’s a pity.” He steps away from the bed, Mie’s hand in his._

_“Where are we going Nii-san?” The little girl rubs at her eyes, yawning._

_“You and your new Daddy are going to play a game. There are some toys here that Nii-san has that your Daddy doesn’t have at home. He wants to give some of them a try before you two go home.” That’s why we’re on a set. Not to film anything, but to give this man an opportunity to see if there are torture devices that he'd like to add to his purchase, Jesus Christ._

_I must have made a noise, because Mie turns around and looks at me. “Hiko-chan? Aren’t you coming too?”_

_I freeze, unable to even open my mouth. I don’t want to be here. Why couldn’t you have taken me straight to my bedroom? Was it inconvenient for your schedule? Or did you simply get a kick out of the idea of watching me watch her die? “I’m sorry, Mie," Nagare answers for me. "Hiko-chan cannot come with you. Next time though, alright?”_

_“Okay,” she replies, turning her head and looking up at him. “Can I have my dress back now? It’s cold.”_

_“Of course, I’ll go get it in just a few minutes.” Stop telling her lies! She doesn’t understand! “Now come. Over here. Everything is all ready.”_

_Nagare leads her to the other side of the room, the other man following behind. Close your eyes, Saruhiko. Everything is going to be okay. They’re just going to play. It’s okay, Mie. You and your new Daddy are just going to play a game. It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be alright. I promise._ I promise _. She begins to scream. It’s okay. Just stop crying._ Please _stop crying. "It hurts! I'm a good girl!" She screams again, sobbing. “Hiko-chan, help me!”_

“STOP IT!” I can’t breathe. I can’t stand it. My chest squeezes tight, my heart palpitating. The salt of my tears is coating my lips, the taste acrid in my mouth. I open my eyes. This isn’t Nagare’s set. She’s not here. Mie died. She died a long time ago-- _years ago_ . Dear god. I look up, what I’ve just done finally registering. Akagi and Bandou are both standing up, the video on the screen behind them long forgotten. I just screamed that _out loud_.

Akagi looks at me, utterly aghast. “Fushimi,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

“Just _shut up_!” I snarl. “Just do me a favor and shut the. Fuck. Up.”

_‘Hiko-chan, I’m scared. I’m really scared.’_

I couldn’t protect you. I said that I would. I told you it would be okay, although I knew full well it wouldn’t be. I knew that and I lied to you anyways. _Why_ ? Why the fuck would I do that? Why would I tell you lie after lie? Hold you to my chest and allow you to believe you’d have a future? I’m sorry. It’s me. It’s my fault-- _it is always my fault._ My skull pulses. I dig my hands into my hair, every finger trembling; they’re shaking so badly I have to grab hold of the strands to keep them steady.

“Fushimi?” Akagi steps around the chair and takes a hesitant step towards me. “Fushimi?”

“DON’T! Stay the hell away from me!” The response is automatic. I can’t stand it. I can’t stay here. I have to leave. I have to get out of here. _Anywhere_. “People around me die," I say, the words so quiet I can barely even hear myself. "Everyone around me dies. You’ll die too.”

_‘It hurts! Hiko-chan!’_

It's a strain to force out the next words, but I have to make him understand, “She screamed so loud. She kept calling my name. Over and over again. She begged me to help her and I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

 _‘Hiko-chan! It hurts!’_ Make it stop! Just make it _stop_! I rip at my hair, the strands snapping and pulling free. It is the only thing I can think to do that'll make her voice go away.

I feel hands on my arms and I jerk. “Fuck! Stop it, Fushimi! You’re hurting yourself!”

I don’t care! “I deserve it!” I scream at him. “I deserve to be punished!"

The hands morph into arms, wrapping around me from behind and pulling me in tight. My body thrashes of its own accord, attempting and failing to break free. The boy holding me is surprisingly strong. I thrash again. _Get the fuck off of me_ ! Almost in retaliation of my squirming, he drops backwards and sits down on the ground, shocking my body into stillness as I fall down with him. What the _hell_ are you doing?

“It wasn’t your fault. Stop it, Saruhiko. It isn’t your fault.” The voice whispering in my ear is gentle, despite the power of the arms keeping me still. How do you know it isn’t my fault? How could you possibly know? “Shh, it’s okay now.” There is no change in the pressure of his grasp when he says, louder this time, “Bandou, go call Kusanagi and Anna.” His focus turns back to me, voice soft once more, empty words tumbling out of his mouth, although I register none of them.

The vibration of his chest and the soft lull of his voice slither through me, into my head, into my brain. No one ever holds me like this unless they wish to hurt me. He isn’t though. He isn’t trying to punish me or torture me and I don’t understand why. Despite my confusion, the thumping in my chest slows by a degree and my muscles start to unclench one by one. “That’s it. Just relax.”

I close my eyes and try to forget--the purpled and bruised cheeks, the puffy redness around her chocolate colored eyes, the trembling lips, and the one droplet of blood, drawing a glistening red line down her cheek, a mere prelude of what was yet to come. And I sat back and watched it happen. Allowing her to imagine that she would survive? Allowing her to imagine that I would take care of her? What an absolute joke. A chuckle that vaguely resembles a sob chokes out of me. “Why,” I mutter, a fresh stream of tears coursing down my cheeks, unchecked and unwanted, “why are you being nice to me? I’ve done such horrible things. I deserve to suffer.”

“What horrible things have you done to warrant this?” he questions back. “No one deserves to suffer like this.”

“I made her believe it would be okay. I told her I would take care of her. I manipulated her. I tricked her. And then I let her go.” I really do laugh then, and it is the worst sort of sound. “Nagare threatened to take away my _fucking_ painkillers and just like that I handed her over.” Chuckling, laughing, crying, sobbing--what the hell is the difference? None of it helps. None of it changes anything. None of it changes what I did.

“You didn’t have a choice.” Heh. Yeah, sure. “Fushimi, listen to me. You didn’t have a choice. There was nothing you could have done to change the outcome.”

She would have been better off if I’d left her alone. She should have stayed scared. Maybe then she would have fought harder. Or is that just one more lie to make myself feel better?

“Saru! What the hell is going on?!”

Misaki? My eyes pop open and there he is, crouching in front of me, pajamas and all, alarm and worry evident on his face. When did you get here? _Why_ are you here? I don’t deserve your sympathy. “Hey, Misa.” The words are more of a cough than anything. “You shouldn’t be here, You’re too nice. I don’t deserve nice things.” I close my eyes, attempting to block him out, attempting to ignore the tears plaguing me. Why can’t I stop crying? How incredibly shameful.

“Saruhiko, open your eyes.”

"No." My response is instantaneous, no better than a child’s.

“Stop being an ass.” Tch. I’ll stop being an ass when _you_ stop being obnoxious and persistent. You're only going to hurt yourself by trying to protect me all the time. This has to stop now, before you try to get any more involved. I use what little movement I have to grab hold of Akagi’s forearms and brace myself before opening my eyes.

“Misaki,” I snap. “ _Go_. Go back upstairs, go back to sleep, and stay the fuck away from me."

My words may as well have been a slap. The look on his face says it all--you’re angry and you’re hurt. That's good. Keep that feeling close to your heart and remember it. “Saru, whatever is going on, I want to help.”

“You can’t help!” Akagi’s arms tighten in response to my yell, making me grip his forearms all the more. “This isn’t about you! Get the fuck out of here and leave me alone!” It’s better this way. This is for your own good. “Do you understand?! I don’t want you here. I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Damn it, Saruhiko! What the hell do you want me to do, then?! Just leave you here like this, with someone you don't even know?! I know you're hurting. I can't just walk away. I won't. Let me help!

“Yata,” the use of his last name garners a glower. "Fuck you and your help,” I growl. "I don't need you."

My final words do the trick. “Fine!" he yells. Standing up, he storms off, stomping the whole way. It takes ever fiber of my being not to call him back. The desire is so strong that I only then notice my nails sinking into Akagi's arms. Strangely enough, he has yet to complain.

“Was that really necessary?” I hear the question in my ear, but I do not respond. I can’t allow Misa-chan to see me like this and worry about me even more. I cannot allow him to keep this diluted desire to save me from Nagare. My Master didn't even have to touch me to garner my obedience. He still doesn't. All he had to do was say a few simple words and I handed Mie over, _a seven year old_ , to face her torture alone. The fact that I could do something so horrific is terrifying. What would I do if it were you, Misa-chan? Would I try to save you? Or would I simply hand you over to save myself? I want to believe that I would give my life for yours. You are a more pure and honest human being than I’ll ever be. You are the one person who matters more to me than any other. And yet, if Nagare were standing here right now, holding the pipe above me, I cannot say with absolute certainty that I wouldn't hand you over and sacrifice you too. That knowledge is like a sticky tar--there is no way for me to ignore it--it clings to me and drags me down until I feel as though I am drowning in it.

  
Akagi and I sit together for what seems like an eternity. Neither of us say anything. There is no need. The tears eventually slow and stop; even so, I do not release my grip. Even as I hear the locks clicking open, hear the sounds of Kusanagi’s and Anna’s voices heading towards the library, I do not let go. I can’t. I don’t know how he knows not to let go; intuition or experience, perhaps? Whatever the reason, I am grateful, because deep down, in the far reaches of my mind, I can sense a stirring of fear. A fear of what though, I do not know.


	17. Assimilate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from the deep dark depths of life. I’m sorry for taking so long to get this up. I am grateful for everyone who is sticking around for this very long, very heavy story. I had to work lots and lots of overtime in December and January. So much so that it forced me and portions of this chapter to go into hibernation, during which time I de-stressed by starting work on the character designs for my webcomic, but that is so many years away that I could cry...boo. Anyways. 
> 
> There is some fun character development in this chapter based off of details from the manga (as HOMRA isn't fully fleshed out in the show...like at all, haha). I hope you all enjoy it!

Can you please leave now? Leaning back against the headboard of my bed, I pointedly stare at the wall, trying and failing to ignore the young woman seated by the doorway reading a book. You are being positively obnoxious. Alright,  _ fine _ , if you won’t talk, I will. “You may leave at any time, you know?”

Anna leans over and sets the book down on the floor. “I apologize Fushimi-san, but I cannot do that.”

“Why not?” I snarl. “I’m fine.”

“I am happy to hear you say so, but unfortunately, it is HOMRA policy.” She pauses for a moment and then asks, “May we talk?”

I don’t control your vocal chords. I can’t tell you whether or not to talk. Now, I don’t promise that I’ll actually respond…”I would prefer not, but I can’t stop you.”

She breathes in slowly and then let’s out a long sigh. “I want to apologize.” What the hell do you need to apologize for? I’ve only ever met you, what, three times now? “The last time we met, I did something very ill-advised and I regret doing so.”

Uh, what? “Is that so? Care to explain?”

“When HOMRA got involved in this case, the police were very unhappy.” That doesn’t make any sense. Wasn’t it up to the Captain to make that decision? “Reisi’s boss was very angry. They wanted to interrogate you, but I advised them that wouldn’t be possible. With your condition, you weren’t emotionally ready. Misaki’s involvement made the situation even more complicated.”

I feel a tick start behind my right eye.  _ Riveting _ . Please, do tell me more about my  _ condition _ . “What’s your point?”

“After what happened in Reisi’s office, I knew you would be uncooperative until you accepted that Misaki was alive. When I told them this, the police chief told us that if we did not hasten process, he would take you into custody and interrogate you.”

I finally turn my face so I can look at her. She is gripping the edge of her dress, crumpling the fabric in clenched fists. Hold on now. Are you  _ crying _ ? What the hell are you crying for? She doesn’t look at me as she continues, “You weren’t ready and I knew it. I gave you that photo album because I hoped that the approach would be less traumatic; but I was wrong. I hurt you and I’m sorry.”

That’s what has you so emotional? You didn’t make me overreact. It certainly couldn’t be worse than what would have happened otherwise. “Anna.” She looks up when she hears her name. This is the first time I’ve called you by your name, isn’t it? “And what would have happened if you hadn’t of done that? I would have been interrogated like a criminal--it’s what the Captain did before he knew my situation.” She wipes her eyes, drying her cheeks as the tears slow. If the police chief forced your hand on this, how long is he going to wait before he drags me in and interrogates me anyways? “I am assuming that you have to report to them regarding my condition? When you speak with them, please inform them that my humble reply to their request for information is a very resound and firm, ‘Fuck. No.’ I am not their laprat. As far as I’m concerned, I owe them nothing.”

She replies quietly, “You are a very interesting person, Fushimi-san.” The corner of her mouth tilts up into a small smile. “I apologize for crying like this. It’s--”

I cut her off, “It’s what? ‘Unprofessional’?” To be frank, I don’t know anything about counseling or what makes a fair or unbiased therapist. And there isn’t a reason for me to care either. “What you feel, do, or say is of no concern to me. I just want to be left alone.”

“And after?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“If left alone, what would you do?”

My eyes narrow. Oh no you don’t. Back off. I'm not talking about my _feelings_ with you, or anyone else for that matter. “Nothing at all.” I turn my head away from her so I can look at the wall again. That is a fascinating shade of blue. What is it? Navy perhaps?

Anna doesn’t ask another question. She responds simply with, “Okay, I understand.” I catch a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye. She has picked up her book and started to read once more, almost as if we had never spoken in the first place. That’s perfectly fine with me. I am tired anyways.

~

My eyes crack open. The room is dark; the door is closed and all lights are turned off except for one lamp set onto the dimmest setting. The chair near the door is empty and the air is heavy with an overbearing silence. They must not be watching me one-on-one for the time being--a small bit of relief for now. I roll up and climb out of bed, not bothering with shoes. I wander towards the door and open it. Let’s see, what time is it? The clock in the hallway reads 8 AM. The house, like the bedroom, is eerily quiet; even the sound of the clock’s ticking minute hand seems to click loudly in the silence. Thank fuck. I wobble, stumbling forward as I move towards the bathroom. I have been asleep for hours, hell I haven’t done much of anything outside of sleeping since I arrived here. I should be well rested, not falling over my own damn feet. Maybe a shower will wake me up and get my body up to speed.

I strip before I even reach the bathroom door, the shirt slipping between my fingers and dropping to the floor. I feel absolutely filthy. How many days has it been since I took a shower? I have no idea how many days it’s been since I left the hospital, how many days I spent at the precinct, or even how many days it has been since I arrived here. It could be days or weeks for all I know. The pants slip down my legs, pooling at my feet as I shut the door and turn on the water. Once steam starts to fill the small space, I step into the spray, letting the heat beat against the freshly healing wounds on my back.  _ Shit _ . It  _ burns _ . Is it too soon to be doing this?

“ _ Damn it _ .” Facing the spray, I let the water pound against my chest and head. This will have to suffice until my back finishes the healing process. Grabbing whatever soap and shampoo I can find, I scrub myself down and rinse off before stepping out, letting the droplets of water drip off of me. Saruhiko, are you a moron? Maybe grabbing a towel  _ first _ would have been a good choice...

‘ _ Creak _ ’. Who in the ever-loving fuck would come in, clearly knowing someone else is in here? This isn’t an open door policy and you aren’t Yukari. Who do you think you are exactly? My head turns only enough for me to see who is standing in the doorway. Fatass blond. Care to remind me which one you are? My lids narrow, but the glare doesn’t seem to accurately explain my unspoken command--close that gaping mouth of yours and stop with that ridiculous blushing. You live with how many other men? How could this possibly surprise you?

“ _ Get. Out _ ,” I hiss.

His whole body leaps to attention, yelling out, “S-sorry!” as the door snaps closed. 

Dumbass. Now about that towel...I glance around and find a small cabinet above the toilet. I open it and grab a towel, drying myself off before wrapping it around my hips. As I leave the bathroom, I pick up my discarded clothes and head back towards my room. At least my legs no longer feel like giving out. Hmm? I turn and look towards one of the other doors as it closes with a quiet click of the lock. You wanted another peek at the whore, did you? After last night’s incident, I bet everyone in this house knows I'm a sex slave. Although, given that everyone living here is male, they probably think I'm a simple prostitute, nevermind my unwillingness to participate.

Once I’m back in the bedroom, I let the towel and all the clothing drop to floor. Frankly, this is closer to my regular state of being. Heh, now  _ that _ is something I’d enjoy seeing--their dumbfounded expressions if I just walked around naked. It’s too bad I’d be scared shitless. At that point I might as well be walking around with a sign reading--‘Please drag me into your room and rape me senseless’.

I grab a pair of jeans and toss on a t-shirt and a matching pair of black socks. I find my glasses and put them on before heading back out the door and down the stairs. Argh, I should have dried my hair, now it’s just sticking to my forehead. I run my hand through the strands and muss it up as much as I can; it’s the only way to keep my hair from plastering itself against my skin. There we go, now it won't stick and my hair will look a-mess. After I get to the main floor, I head to the kitchen and into the pantry. Let’s see what garbage they keep in here. No canned fruit? Check. Empty boxes of cereal put back on the shelf? Check. Boxes of anything of substance absent and unaccounted for? Check. Okay, I guess bottle of water and microwave popcorn it is. How exciting.

I throw the bag into the microwave and take a swig of water before leaning against the counter to wait. The hallway creaks and I look up just a single hesitant foot slides through the doorway. Strands of blond hair are falling in his face, covering whatever expression might be in his eyes as he slips into the pantry. He creeps back out, a box of pasta in hand. What. Is that? You’re going to eat it uncooked, really? Is my presence  _ that _ offensive that you can't even bother to cook it? He’s about to walk back out the door when I quip, “I won’t bite.” He freezes, but doesn’t turn around. “It would be common cutesy to at least acknowledge my existence, you know.”

Even with the hair blocking most of his expression, the flash of those starkly blue eyes is unmistakable--fear, thinly veiled by a layer of anger. “うるさい!” he snipes, the sound terse, better yet, defensive. Even though the language is one I do not understand, the tone and accompanying facial expression is enough. I get it, I make you uncomfortable. Nonetheless, you could at least say ‘hi’. With a whip of his head, he is back out the door. You realize you didn’t even introduce yourself, right? Granted, I am the last person to be scolding you about etiquette and common niceties--I demonstrate very few of them on a day to day basis. His brusque attitude notwithstanding, everything about that boy is undeniably an archetypal ode to abuse. Not that is makes me any less curious, frankly, it piques my interest even more. Those scars adorning his neck remind me of so many others I have seen before. It’s like being home again.

I turn at the sound of the microwave going off. Grabbing the nearest paper towel I can find, I use it to pull out the steaming bag and head out of the kitchen. Climbing back up the stairs, I make it up to the top floor with no interference. When I reach the top, I find myself walking over and standing in front of Misaki’s door instead of my own, no thought given to the action. He’s sleeping, Saruhiko. What the hell do you think you’re doing? Stupid. “ _ Tch.  _ I’m an idiot.” What am I doing here--what do I even want?  _ I just want to be near you _ . I want you to hold on to me and keep me from falling back down into that dark, black nothingness of my memories. A tangy taste of blood stings my tongue; I’m biting my lip hard enough to break the skin. Damn it.

I turn around and walk over to my own bedroom, stopping in front of the door. The bag of popcorn and bottle of water dangle from my hands, listless. Here we are again. I drop my forehead onto the wooden frame. I don’t want to go back inside.  _ But why... _ Does it even matter? Fuck it. I drop down to the floor and open the bag, not bothering to go back inside. I’ll eat out here instead.

I finish the popcorn and water bottle, nevertheless, I don’t get up from the floor. I’ll just stay out here until I feel like moving. My breath rushes out with a sigh, as I lift my legs and rest my arms atop my knees. I want out of this house. I’d rather be back home with my own books and my own clothes, without running in to people at every turn. It’s like a prison in here.

The minutes tick by: 5, 10, 20, 50, until the moments all blend together. It feels so very empty.

“Fushimi-san, what’re you doing? Is there something wrong?”

“Your very existence is what’s wrong.” Go away Kusanagi. I don't want to talk to you right now. Then again, when do I ever?

“Well, you seem to be doing better.” I feel his presence behind me as he comes over to stand beside me. “I came to check on you. It won’t be too much longer before the others start getting up for the day. You sure you want to stay out here?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.”

“This is my house. Everything that happens within its walls are my concern. You care to rephrase?”

“No.”

“I--”

I cut him off before he can get any further. “How long am I going to stay here? Don’t the police want me back? They want the information I have. What’s holding them up?”

“Me.”

Huh? My neck twists of its own accord, so I can look up at his face which is lined with frown marks. “I’m not sure I understand your comment.”

“I had a talk with the police chief and Munakata this morning, the Captain to you.”

“Mmm, I see. And what did you talk about precisely?” I reply softly.

“You.” His eyes don’t waver as they look into mine. Good for you. People rarely are able to maintain steady eye contact. “We had a discussion regarding what happened. Despite this place being a sanctuary, they can legally take you back in at any time since this is a federal case. In fact, that’s probably why the police chief is pushing this so hard. He’s probably getting a lot of heat for not yet having had an official interview with you.”

My fingers pulse at the idea. The clenching is involuntary and I hate myself for it. Show some dignity. “If that’s the case, then why haven’t they come and collected me yet?”

"As you are under my care, I argued to keep you here for a while longer. HOMRA has numerous ties with the federal courts due to the nature of our program. In most cases, they defer to mine and Anna’s recommendations. It puts the chief in a difficult position if our direct suggestion is in opposition to his desires, whether or not he legally has the authority to do so.”

“But why would you do that? It’s better for everyone if they can get me to divulge more information. And to be frank, you and I both know I don’t deserve such effort. Your protection, although noble, is counter intuitive to the greater good.”

Heaving a long sigh, Kusanagi drops down, leaning back on his haunches so he can meet me at my level. I resist the immediate urge to lean away. You’re getting way too close. “I know you don’t understand this, and it will take you a long time before you do, perhaps even never, but you  _ do _ matter. I’ll be the first to tell you that you are a rude, inconsiderate child, but that doesn’t mean we don’t care. You are a clever person, Fushimi, and deep down, you and I both know that you are considerate and kind, even if you don’t outwardly show it.”

The spit dries in my throat and I find it difficult to swallow. You are insane, truly. “That sounds like a load of grade A bullshit.”

“Okay, okay, let’s end this conversation for now.” He stands up and puts his hands on his waist, leaning from side to side to stretch. “Seeing as you’re dressed already, come on downstairs with me. I need to do prep for this weekend's desserts and I could use the help.” He turns around and heads to the stairs without waiting for my response. Usually I’d argue, but I honestly don’t have anything better to do--I’m just going to be bored out of my mind otherwise.

I follow him back down the stairs and into the kitchen. There’s already several bags of ingredients on the counter, including apples, strawberries, rhubarb, and a couple bags of sugar. “Wash your hands first and afterwards grab the flour in the pantry. There should be a 15 pound bag in there. I’ll grab the dishes.”

I follow his directives, washing my hands before finding the bag, grabbing it by the edge and dragging it out. “Why are you making desserts exactly? Don’t you run a bar?”

“It’s a pub, not a bar. We serve hand made dinners, including dessert. I suppose I should have asked, do you know how to cook, better yet, do you know how to bake?” His hands are quickly fiddling with the flour, throwing a handful onto the counter before grabbing a mixing bowl and tossing in various dry ingredients.

“To a degree,” I admit. “Iwa-san does a lot of the cooking. I do it when I have to, but I am usually able to get away without. I only recently started baking because Gojou is always making a fuss and demanding treats. Anything that’ll shut him up is a good thing in my book.” I pause. My instincts are screaming at me to stop talking. Saruhiko, you need to relax. Remember, don't reveal anything incriminating, just enough to give them something to focus on and chase their tails over. You can do that.

“Really? Well, good! Here take this." A bowl of half-made dough is shoved into my hands and a glass of water pushed in my direction. “You know how to make pie crust? You’ll need this. This is just the first batch. We’ll need to make another two batches of dough.” A rolling pin and a stack of two pie pans are passed over to me next. “Here you go. Remember to flour your hands. That will make the base for both pans, the top for one and the strips for the other. The pans still need greasing.” Turning away, he takes the fruits over to sink and begins rinsing them all. Um, am I just supposed to use the counter? “The counter is made of wood for a reason. I’ve already disinfected it.” Alright, question not asked, but answer received nevertheless.

I turn toward the bowl and start the kneading and dampening of the dough, until it becomes a thick, sticky mess in my hands. I coat my hands with additional flour and then throw some onto the dough before turning it out onto the counter. I knead it a couple more times and grab the rolling pin. Kusanagi comes back to the counter, strawberries and rhubarb diced up together in a bowl. He grabs the first of the apples and starts peeling it with ease. Jeez, I would cut myself up trying to peel like that.

I get the first crust rolled out and grease the dish, but can’t help hesitating. And here comes the test--whether or not the crust falls to pieces or if I can actually get it into the dish without destroying it. “Here, let me do it.” It takes him what seems like seconds to come over and use the rolling pin to plop it into the dish. “There you go. Go ahead and press that down. When you finish, start up on the next crust. I’ll be back with the mixture for the first one.”

He starts up the stove and starts adding ingredients, so I turn back to making the crusts. It’s relaxing to sit here in the silence together, yet boring. I guess I'll ask you something instead. “Why are you doing this profession? It seems like you would have been better suited to be a chef, not a babysitter for ex-gang members.”

I look from the corner of my eye to check out his reaction. There is a slight quirk of his lips, and admittedly, the action makes me want to smile. See, I can be sociable...sometimes. “I was indecisive when I was in school. I got my undergraduate degree and my master's degree, in different fields mind you, in addition to a culinary certification and still I ended up here. When Mikoto presented the idea to me, I laughed at first.” His smile widens at the thought and I can’t help but feel myself begin to relax. You are much more pleasant when you aren’t grousing about everything and glaring at me. “When he told me why though, I couldn’t help but agree to join in on the endeavor. All these years later and here we are. But you know, I’ve found that I really love doing this job.”

“Why?” That question is not said in jest. I really don’t see the appeal.

“Seeing everyone’s transformation, seeing where they take themselves beyond these walls--it’s something that I could not experience doing anything else.” He steps away from the stove, leaving his still cooking mixture to come help me with the second dish. “Here.” He gets the crust into it and then pushes a bowl of peeled apples in my direction along with a knife. “They need to be cored, and cut into slices. Just use the counter like before.” He returns to the stove, giving whatever’s he’s cooking a few whisks. “Fushimi?”

“Hmm? What?”

“Don’t take this question the wrong way.”

“Well, when you give it a preamble like that--”

“Don’t be a smartass.”

“Yeah yeah.”

“Ya-chan has told us bits and pieces about your childhood.”

“Mhmm…”

“Since you two lived in the same building and went to the same elementary school we thought it would be fairly easy to track information about you. But we couldn’t find anything.”

Interesting. And? “Would you mind being a tad more explicative?”

“You don’t exist. There are no records at the school nor at the apartment building of anyone with the name Fushimi. And no one, outside of Yata and his mother, seem to have any remembrance of you or your family.”

I find myself suppressing a laugh, but unable to prevent myself from smiling. “Are you really surprised?”

“Most schools by that point had already switched over from purely paper files to computer files. He was in the system, but you were not."

“Kusanagi, no offense, but you are fighting a losing battle. Nagare is a computer genius with an IQ that far surpasses either yours or mine. He’s a manipulative psychopath who knows who to target and how to cover his tracks. He nearly murdered me in a hospital practically swarming with police. Besides Misaki’s memories, you probably aren’t going to find a single trace that I ever existed. Hell, you probably won’t even find a birth certificate.”

“What about your older brother? Surely there is information about him somewhere.”

My older brother? Who are you talking-- _ oh _ . That wretched filth? “I don’t even remember that man's name. For all I know he wasn’t even really my brother. If he didn’t die in the fire, he probably died in some back alley of a drug overdose. Finding him would likely be impossible."

The man’s face creases, drooping into a concerned frown that is completely unwarranted. “Do you not want to find out what happened to him? Even a little?”

“No,” I respond bluntly, “I really don’t. He treated me like a slave before handing me over to a sex ring operation for drug money. Nagare, Yukari, Iwa-san, even Gojou--the things they have done to me are heinous.  _ But _ .” I stop and glance up, looking him in the eyes when I tell him the full and honest truth. “For the first few years I was with them, they treated me better than my brother, or anyone in my biological family ever did. Excluding Misa-chan,  _ they _ are my family, even if the very thought of them makes me want to vomit.”

His eyes shoot wide open, but the look is masked instantly, his mouth drawing in a thin smile as though the movement will somehow suppress the revulsion I am positive he is feeling. “Ah, I see. Sorry, that isn't the response I normally get when I ask that question. I apologize Fushimi.”

I look back down at my task and continue cutting. “Forget it. Of all the questions you could have asked that was probably the least intrusive.”

“Is that so? Alright then, let’s talk about something else then.”

“Like what?” What is there left to talk about at this point?

He smiles at me, a real one this time, as he relaxes back into the task at hand. “What is your favorite meal? Why don’t we cook it today for the group meal?”

That would be okay I guess…"Uhh, sure..."

~

I step into the rows of bookshelves and glance around at the many small, handwritten tags taped to the middle of each shelf. The shelf I’ve chosen appears to be comprised of primarily history texts, so I continue on until I reach the final bookshelf. Okay, let’s see here. I take a peek at the label: ‘World Literature'. Now which book should I read? I guess we’ll try this one? ‘Frankenstein’ by Mary Shelley. Iwa-san says we’re starting with 19th century British literature, right? I look next to the shelf and find a small cubby nestled in the wall. Now that’s something I wasn’t expecting to see. It must be the remnants of a dumbwaiter; I’m surprised they didn’t seal it up. It’ll be a tight fit, only enough for me to sit with my legs folded, but if I sit in there, no one will be able to see me while walking around, at least not easily. I might actually be able to read in peace...Now that’s a nice thought.

I crawl inside and finagle myself into a position that allows me to lean against the wall. This is actually quite convenient, I can survey the room like this and keep an eye out for the others. I grab hold of the book again and pull it open to page one. ‘ _ Letter I: To Mrs Saville, England’ _ . This is going to be a horrendously boring book isn’t it? Wonderful. But what else am I going to do with my time? Misaki’s out for class until after dinner and Kusanagi has since left to get ingredients for the meal. I’ve already explored every nook and cranny of this building. There isn’t anything else to explore. And it’s not like I have a password for the computer, so that’s no use to me either.

I start reading, but only make it through page 30 before my impatience reaches its peak. I cannot stand this drivel. I’ll have to choose a different book to try. Now that Iwa-san has made the decision, there isn’t any choice to change topics. Nagare would have something to say about that I’m sure. My movement completely stops in its tracks when my attention is snagged by the creaking hinges of the study room door. I put the book down next to me and keep quiet--I’m not even going to attempt to get out. That will only make them aware of my presence and I’d much rather avoid that particular confrontation.

Voices hushed, the two boys who enter stumble their way past the bookshelves and into the study area, where they crash into the table, papers and pencils sliding off the faux wood surface and onto the floor. Are they fighting or fucking? Dear Christ, let it not be the latter.  _ Please _ ? I hear a zipper and watch as the first of many clothes begin falling to the floor. The gods hate me. Absolutely  _ hate _ me. “I t-think--” the voice is strained, more a wheeze than anything. “I-I think Dewa knows.”

“Hmm?” is the response of the other boy as he buries his face into the blond’s throat.

“De-” his breath hitches and his attempts at speech stop, the other working fast to rip the shirt up and over his head.

“What’s this about Dewa now?” he questions, sliding a hand up the chest and pinching a nipple.

“S-stop. I can’t think when you do that,” he groans.

“That’s the whole point.”

The blond--his name was Erik, wasn’t it?--slides his hands into the other’s hair and grasps onto it, firmly tugging. “I-I’m serious.”

The other boy barely reacts, blowing air across the skin in front of him. Damn it, which one is he? Kamamoto, Fujishima, Chitose? Fuck there are too many to remember. “And what’s your point?” he murmurs. He uses the momentary distraction to tug at Erik’s sweatpants, seemingly satisfied when they fall to the floor, revealing long, slim legs. Damn. If it weren’t for the unmistakeable leg hair, and the flat chest, one could mistake him for a woman...“Get on the table.”

There isn’t a moment of hesitation, Erik quickly reaches back and uses his hands to hop onto the table behind him, bare ass and all. Ugh...I was going to use that...now I’m going to have to find the damn bleach. Or at least a really thick table cloth. Like hell I’m going to use that table now. Not that I haven’t been fucked with someone else's’ blood and cum dripping off of me. However, none of those instances were by choice, not in the slightest.

Erik’s lips part and he whispers, “He’s been seeking me out, calling me ‘useless’, ‘waste of space’, ‘dog’, ‘mongrel’.” The words make the other boy pause--as they should. Are you really going to allow that bowler hat asshole talk like that to your boyfriend? Or, let me guess, he’s nothing more than your fuck toy? “I wonder if he’s right…” Erik lifts his shaking hands and reaches out for the other, the image bearing a striking resemblance to that a small child seeking comfort. He stops halfway through the motion and curls his fingers, letting his hands fall back down to his sides. “Why did you even choose to be with me? Women throw themselves at you. You’ve fucked more than I count. You don’t even like men.”

“I like you,” the other softly replies.

“But for how long? How long until you get tired of all of this and go looking for the next girl that peaks your fancy?” Erik responds. His voice sounds so resigned. Poor kid. It’s probably better this way though. At least you know what’s coming. Better to prepare yourself for the inevitable now. It will help ease your pain when he tosses you away.

“Erik,” he says, voice soft, placating. What lies are you going to weave in order to appease him? ‘Don’t worry, I love you’? ‘You know that’s not true’? What a load of shit. “I like fucking women, pussy is nice. But that’s all they are. The chase, the hunt, it all ends the same.” His hand reaches up and he threads his fingers through the long, blond strands, tilting his head to examine them. “Did you know there are things I’ve told you that I haven’t even told Masaomi?” His fingers slide down and skim over the smooth skin of Erik’s cheek.

“Why?”

“Because,” he murmurs, “you’re the only person who has never lied to me. Every woman I’ve ever dated or fucked has lied to me. Hell, even Masa lies to me, and he’s my best friend. But not you. You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.” He wraps his arms around the slimmer boy and rests his face against the other’s smooth cheek. “I know I made you promise not to tell anyone about us. Once everyone knows, everything will change and I don’t know if the changes will be good or bad.” He chuckles then, a slightly nervous sound that seems almost out of place during such a tender moment. “I want you. I l-love you. And that scares me.” Erik says nothing at all, he responds instead by wrapping himself around his partially clothed partner, using the leverage to pull their bodies flush.

Chills pulse inside my chest, goosebumps running across my skin as the cold reaches into the deepest recesses of my body. Did you just show him  _ respect _ ? You  _ respect  _ the person you’re fucking? You actually  _ love  _ him? That’s not possible. My lip curls, my lungs tightening, a confounding mixture of disgust and sadness curdling like rot inside of me. Love. Deference. Those things don’t exist. Not in relationships.  _ Right _ ?

My eyes narrow. This is ridiculous. Even if those things _can_ exist, they certainly won’t ever be a part of _my_ life. Nagare and Yukari both love me in their own ways: as a pet and plaything, and as an exoctic animal to capture and possess, respectively. In neither case do they love me as a person, as _Fushimi_ _Saruhiko_...and they never will...

The two boys are panting now, their lips and breath and tongues mingling. I don’t know where it came from, but there is an open bottle of lube on the table as Erik starts laying down. I cannot force myself to look away. I know I should. I am by no means a voyeur, but there is something so unusual about their fucking that I just cannot comprehend it.

Erik is moaning now, back arching off the table, legs spread wide open; he is utterly shameless as he bares himself, not a single ounce of fear or humiliation evident on his face as the boy standing moves his fingers inside, a droplet of thick liquid sliding down his hand. The movements of his fingers are slow and gentle, as though he is caressing every inch of Erik’s insides with his fingertips. I have never seen anyone take such care when preparing someone. Even my first time being fucked by Yukari wasn’t this measured and controlled. When he’s satisfied, he pulls out his fingers and uses them to coat his length with more lube before lining himself up and pressing in, slowly, one inch at a time. Erik’s gasp matches my own.  _ Fuck _ !

I close my eyes and shift my legs so I can pull them to my chest. This is the slowest, most uneventful sex that I have ever witnessed in my many years of life, and yet...why is it that this gentle fucking is making me harder than I have ever been in my entire life?

~

I help Kusanagi prep dinner and set the table before sitting through another long, uneventful dinner. Most of the house, besides Akagi, outright ignore me, perhaps deservedly so. Bandou spares a few furtive glance in my direction, but otherwise avoids talking to me. I catch on to his looks only by microscopic turns of the head, if it weren't for that I would be none the wiser with his eyes hidden behind those ridiculous sunglasses.

Given the calculated Fushimi ban, this finally give me the opportunity to analyze everyone’s interactions and learn all of their names without having to ask them outright. So let’s see here. That one with the spiky red hair is Fujishima. Kamamoto is the fat blond. Which means Chitose is the one I saw in the library today. I chance a few glances between him, Dewa, and Erik throughout the meal waiting to see any indication of the strange dynamic I have witnessed thus far. Erik is utterly silent, nibbling at his food like a small child, his hair sliding down and covering his eyes. The person who laid open his legs and practically begged to be taken is nowhere in sight. In fact, neither is the person who blew me off in the pantry earlier. With so many contradictions, which of these people is the real Erik?

A strand silky hair slides down his cheek, which prompts him to lift his slender fingers and push it back behind his ear. I look over at Chitose and Dewa as this happens, the two conveniently sitting opposite of him. Every movement, every look, is subtle, barely perceptible as they both work to control themselves. Chitose’s eyes linger just a tad longer than usual as they get caught up in the movement of Erik’s hand, his face flushing until the other’s fingertips drop back down to his plate. He immediately goes back to eating his own food as though nothing had happened at all. You and Erik might be good at hiding it, but your ‘best friend’ is not. That deep, cutting glimmer of pain in his eyes is more than simple jealousy. Dewa’s in love with you and you have no fucking idea. No wonder why he’s lashing out at the blond. Geez, all of you are severely lacking self-awareness.

When dinner finishes, everyone scatters, just like before. I head back up the stairs to my room and grab the book I took from the library earlier--’A Tale of Two Cities’ by Charles Dickens. I think a few of my brain cells died just reading page one. I’m going to have to put it back and find something else. What the hell were you thinking, Iwa-san? These ‘classics’ are better used as sleeping aides than as reading material for class.

I stop on the third to last step as I descend from the top floor. Mr. Bowler hat is standing in the hallway, finishing locking his door. He turns and catches sight of me, the lines on his face creasing. Don’t turn into an old man on my account. Why don’t you try a little smile, huh? “Oh, it’s you. Did you need something?” he asks.

I don’t know what it is about him that makes me want to ridicule him. I wish I could control myself more, hesitate even a little. But there is no filter when it comes to provoking him. Within a second, I am replying, “It would be helpful if you could move from the middle of the hallway. How about we start with that?”

“What is it with that attitude of yours? Why are you always such a dick?”

Heh. My lip twitches at the corner, quirking into what I could only be described as a snide smirk. “Would you believe it is simply in my nature?” The frown on his face deepens, causing me to chuckle. Your nature, I suppose, is to be in a constant state of disapproval. No matter. I can work with that. “I have no reason to be cordial to you or anyone in this house. And to be clear, I don’t care to.”

“Tch. Fine by me. You’ll never be one of us, anyways.”

As if I’d want to be. A member of HOMRA? Shall I tattoo myself and join your little  _ family _ ? Doubtful, highly fucking doubtful. I already have one family and they are more than any sane person can handle. I take another step down in his direction. Wa-what? I feel my foot catch in my pant leg. I feel it, but the feeling is too fleeting. I am falling and there is nothing to be done about it. I feel my glasses slip off my face and the book I'm holding fly out of my hand as I try to scramble to catch myself. I hear the book hit the floor and begin it’s descent down the staircase, but there isn’t a second to care about it’s destination. _Damn it._  This may be the most ungraceful thing I have ever done. Down goes the dumbass. I don’t usually attribute that word to myself, but now seems to be an appropriate time to do so.

A body moves in front of me--instinctively I would hazard to guess--and then I’m enveloped in a warm embrace as the two of us land with a loud ‘OMPH’ on the hallway floor. The arms holding me are surprisingly gentle, one large palm enveloping my waist, the other supporting my lower back. The size of those hands, so thick and large that they are practically engulfing my waist, makes my heart race. Even though his hold is light, my mind cannot override my body’s innate response. It is similar only to how my body reacts when Yukari touches me--pleasure and heat, laced with a dark, suffocating fear. All I want to do is get away. His mouth opens and I recoil backwards, awaiting the scream that is sure to come. “Jesus, man! Watch yourself would you?! Geez, you’re lucky it was me. You would have landed flat on your face if it had been Kamamoto or Fujishima.”

The tone of his voice gives me pause. That was  _ not _ the type of response I was expecting. I breathe in, slowing my heart as I work to shake off my initial reaction. This is nothing like Yukari’s grasp or his long slender fingers snaking over my skin. This is something... _ different _ . He hasn’t shoved me away in disgust or tightened his hold. It’s as though he’s cradling me. It's a type of hold I haven't experienced since I was 6 years old. I  never even humored the possibility that he might not be a total jackass. Our few interactions and his supposed interactions with Erik haven’t given me any reason to believe otherwise. Even to me, his behavior seemed petty. Then again...now that I think about it...I just presumed that he was in love with Chitose; and yet, the way he is holding me right now, the way he reached for me despite my unpleasant personality, doesn’t exactly line up with that original train of thought.

From my experience (skewed thought it may be), a vindictive, thoughtless person would push away the best friend to punish them for their betrayal, not the other way around. Unless, of course, you aren’t in love with your best friend...Ah. “You aren’t in love with Chitose, are you? You’re in love with Erik.” The words are out of mouth without a moment’s hesitation.

He immediately shoves at me. “What the  _ hell  _ are you talking about?!”

I roll away from him, sitting up onto my knees so I can look at him. “Chitose doesn’t know that you’re gay, does he?”

“Shut the hell up, Fushimi! Stop spouting crap! Where is this even coming from?!”

“You thought you had a chance with Erik because you figured on Chitose being a non-issue. From what I’ve gathered, he’s straight, and a playboy at that. If he doesn’t know that you’re gay though, there really is no way to justify being angry at him. You are aware enough of your own feelings to recognize that. Am I wrong?"

“ _ Shut up, Fushimi _ . I’m warning you.” With that stupid bowler hat lying on the floor, I can actually see your face clearly for once. You’re pissed as fuck at me, pissed and  _ wounded _ . And that there is the proverbial nail head. 

I know what I’m saying is hurting you. I’m fully aware that this knowledge should be enough to stop my line of questioning, or at minimum make me pause to consider the damage. I know I should care that I am virtually ripping open all of your emotional baggage in one fell swoop...I should, but I don’t. Does that make me heartless, or merely inquisitive? I’d like to believe the latter, but that would be a bold faced lie. There’s a part of me, right beneath the surface, that sincerely enjoys seeing that hurt expression on your face. It makes my heart beat faster and my skin flush. It’s better than food, better than sex. There isn’t any other feeling that is even close to being comparable. I like being  _ right _ \--in fact, I revel in it. “Are you being nasty to Erik because you need an outlet for the frustration and anger? Or are you being cruel because pushing him away and making him hate you seems like the best way to get over him?"

“Shut up!” He lunges for me.

I take the force of his attack, catching his first fist, but missing the second. It connects with my jaw as we fall back to the floor. That hurt, nevertheless, it certainly isn’t the worst pain I’ve ever felt. If that is all you have to offer, then this should be easy. Block fist. Catch forearm. Twist and pop shoulder blade. Foot behind calf and roll. I’ve got y-- _ Shit _ ! Dewa uses his weight to force me into an additional roll, twisting out of my hold as we tumble and gaining the upper hand. Quicker than I can process, he is climbing atop me, his body crushing into my pelvis. Get off of me! He throws his weight down, suppressing my hips with his own so he can free his hands for the next punch.

I don’t block his fist. I can’t.

_ ‘I’ve won again, Saruhiko. That’s twice now. What will you do now?’ I lash out at his face, nails and all, clawing to free myself. Nagare bats away my arms, his sneer one of laughter. I continue to thrash until I manage to connect an elbow with his chin. He rears backwards, not hurt, but rather shocked, by the hit. I use the advantage I have, gathering all of my strength to throw him off and scramble away. I’m surprised to find that he doesn’t immediately follow. I take the opportunity to race to the door on the far side of the room. I reach for the handle. So close. So. Close. A body crashes into mine. FUCK! _

_ We’re rolling, struggling, arms and legs twining and twisting. Our hips rub unintentionally, heat exploding across my skin. I hiss at the sensation. We come to a stop, me gaining the top position. Heh. Serves you right. My lips cock upwards, the leer on my face one of delight. I’ve got you--this round is mine. Chuckling, I lean down, my hands curling around his lily white throat while I whisper, ‘Tag, you’re it.’ I will destroy you and every moment of it will be beautiful. My thumbs press down and into the sides of his throat muscles. I watch him choke, flailing against me. That’s it.  _ Fight me. _ Oh, come now. You can do better than that. _

_ First one fist and then another. Fuck, it’s painful! His fists barrage my stomach and sides, every bit of his body fighting for breath, fighting for  _ life _. Shit! Stop punching me! _

My eyes snap open. My sides ache, deep painful throbs that make me want to vomit. Fists continue to batter my sides, growing weaker as the seconds pass. I look down my arms, down my hands, down to my very fingertips which are digging into Dewa’s skin, leaving dark, black and purple bruises. HOLY FUCK! I rear back, falling off of him and crawling into the nearest corner, pushing my back against the wall. Hacking and wheezing, Dewa rolls onto his side utterly exhausted and listless. His chest rattles and spit drips from between his lips.

My vision blurs as I blink down at my hands. W-what was I just doing? I was trying to  _ kill _ him. My hands,  _ my _ hands were wrapped around his throat. That can’t be right. I’m Fushimi Saruhiko. I’m Saruhiko. I’m not Nagare.  _ I’m not _ . You were remembering yourself as Nagare, though. Who are you to suggest otherwise? How do you even know Nagare exists at all? How can you be certain that you aren’t him?

My body is shaking so badly I’m practically convulsing. I wrap my arms around my waist to try and still myself, but it’s no use. I’m dangerous. I nearly killed him. W-what if it had been Misa-chan? No, I wouldn’t.  _ I couldn’t _ . My teeth chatter as everything starts to go numb: every finger, every toe, my feet, my hands, my arms, my legs. You don’t know that, Saruhiko. You have no fucking idea if you would hurt Misa-chan or not. You cannot protect him from Nagare and you certainly cannot protect him from yourself. The only way to stop all of this is if you die. If you die, you cannot hurt any more people. If you die, you can stop everything.

My fingernails scrape across my hips, digging into the flesh there through the fabric of my shirt. I don’t know how to die. Burned with acid, beaten with chains, raped until fever has knocked me unconscious--and yet...every time... _ every time _ ...my eyes open again and my body fights on. No matter what I do, no matter what happens to it, my body refuses to die. Fuck. Fuck.  _ FUCK. _

I hear a deep rattling gasp of a breath and look up to find that Dewa has moved onto his hands and knees. He hacks a terrible cough, more spit dripping from his lips. His whole body shudders as he gasps air into his lungs. I don’t know what to do. Do I help him? Do I run away? Do I hide? Please tell me what to do, Misa-chan.

“Oi! Masa! What are you doing? Are you coming to study group or not? You said you were coming down like twenty minutes ago. If we don’t leave now, we’re going to miss the train.” I hear the soft creak of the stairs as someone jogs up the steps. Despite the footsteps, I can’t draw my eyes away from the boy on the floor, let alone stand up and move. You have to keep breathing, Dewa.  _ You have to _ . You  _ can’t _ die. “ _ Shit _ ! What the fuck?! Masa! Masa! Hey! Can you hear me? Are you okay?” Chitose kneels down in front of Dewa, who blindly reaches out a hand to grab hold of his friend’s arm. “Can you stand? Come on, let’s get you to the hospital."

Chitose helps hoist the other boy up and hobble to the stairs. Not once does he say a word to me. The only acknowledgement I get is one fleeting look tossed over his shoulder as they start down the stairs. The look lacks the anger I would have anticipated, rather, the look is one of confusion. You don’t realize it, do you? I was the one who did that to your best friend. Once Dewa is able to tell you what happened, you’ll come for me. You’ll come to kill me, maybe even torture me, just like all the others. I need to leave. There’s no use in trying to hide--there’s nowhere in this house where he won’t catch me.

I scramble to my feet, swaying and stumbling into the wall. Get ahold of yourself, Saruhiko! Stand up straight, damn it! My eyes are caught by the sight of the hat on the floor. My trembling hand reaches down of its own accord, grabbing hold of the velvet-like fabric. I should leave it here. It’s not mine to take. So why can’t I let it go? Does it truly matter why, Saruhiko? Get the hell out of here before they come back. I run as fast as I can, all things considered. My body is still unsteady, shaking and tripping the whole way. I fall into my bedroom door, fumbling with the knob before throwing it open wide. Pull it together! Fuck!

Bag. Clothes. Pills. What else? What else?! Who the fuck cares?! Why am I taking anything at all? What use are these things? Will Nagare even let me take these pills? Well, he better if he expects my body to keep going. God fucking damn it! I can’t think straight. Everything in my head is so jumbled. I don’t know what I am supposed to do. I’m so confused. A shirt slips through my numb fingers and onto the bed. Think.  _ Think _ . Where do you plan on running to? Where is there to run? I can’t just run out into the street and expect a car to be sitting there waiting for me. That’s not how these things work. You know this. What were you expecting to accomplish?

_ If I stay here, they’ll punish me for what I’ve done. If I stay here, I’m going to hurt someone again and invite more punishment onto myself. Better yet, I’m going to kill them, whether by choice or by accident, it is inevitable _ . I can’t let that happen. I’m not a killer. I am  _ not _ a murderer. I need to go back to where I belong--at Nagare’s side. I am his to control. And if being his slave is what I need to do to keep everyone safe--keep Misaki safe--then I must do whatever I can to find my way back to him.

“Saru,” I hear the trembling whisper behind me, but I don’t turn around. “What the fuck are you doing? Are you fucking packing?!” His voice breaks, hollering at me from across the room. “Don’t you dare fucking run away from me, you asshole!” His footsteps thunk on the floor, carrying him over to my side. “Fuck you!” He grabs my bag from the bed and chucks it against the wall with a yell, the contents falling out and the pill bottles rolling across the floor. “Are you fucking serious right now?! Where are you even trying to go?! What are you thinking?!  _ Answer me, damn it _ _! _ "

I look down at my shaking, unfeeling hands. What  _ am _ I thinking? I feel so lost. It’s no different than blind, stumbling about in an emptiness so dark that even the sun couldn’t bring back one’s sight. “I don’t know,” I breathe.

“Is that all you have to say?” When I don’t answer, his hand digs into my shoulder and forces me to turn and face his brilliantly red face. “Oi! Are you even listening to me?” His eyes dart to the bed. The yellow in those orbs flare when they see the hat lying atop the comforter. “Saruhiko. Why is Dewa’s hat on your bed?” Teeth grinding loud enough I can hear them crunch, he looks up into my face, the words that are dripping from between his pink lips barely audible, “Answer me.”

Heh heh.  _ Why _ ?  _ Why  _ is Dewa’s hat there? Funny story that. I don’t even know! Isn’t it fucking hilarious?! The chuckle stirring in my chest scraps its way out of my mouth, the sound heavy and broken. My fingers move of their own volition, curling around the hand grasping my shoulder. The skin is rough, but warm, it’s as though his entire body is on fire, radiating with heat. A strange sensation jolts through me, my heart palpitating and my skin flushing. I squeeze his hand, curling the tips of my fingers so that my nails press into the skin of his hand, just shy of breaking through. He doesn’t flinch, instead his face contorts with a terrible glower.  _ Beautiful _ . Keep hold of that rage, that fury.

I step in closer, not letting go of his hand as our bodies nearly touch. That angry heat blossoms as the space between us disappears. I want to absorb it through my skin, I want every last drop of it. It makes me feel calm, despite the chaos bashing its way inside my skull. Dropping my head down, I move my face along his until our cheeks touch. My whole body tingles, a long, drawn out shudder tickling its way down my spine like a single forefinger marking a path across my skin. I don’t remember the last time I was this close to you. Since we were children I suppose.

I draw in a deep breath, the scent of his neck is slightly musky as though freshly showered. Neither Nagare nor Yukari smell like this. Both of them, Yukari in particular, wear cologne--scents that drown out the body’s natural flavor. The freshness of your scent is surprisingly invigorating. “Mi.Sa.Ki,” I breathe into his ear. “You are treading into dangerous territory.” This is just one more thing you aren't ready for and might not ever be ready for. I should shove you away, push you out of my room and close the door, but I can’t. Misa-chan, tell me what to do. I should let you go, but I want to wrap myself around you and hold you in perpetuity, even if that means dragging you down with me. The desire is practically suffocating.

“Is that right?” he whispers in response.

“I have that hat,” I respond, each word pronounced so as to leave no room for misunderstanding, “because I tried to kill him.” Misaki’s entire body stiffens. I don’t have to see him to feel it happening. That fear running through your veins?  _ That  _ is what I have to offer you. Nothing more.  “The truth is, Misa-chan,” my voice trails off and the words cling to my throat muscles. Do it now, Saruhiko. What’s stopping you?  _ He’ll abandon you.  _ You know better than anyone that truth is the ultimate death . But isn’t that what’s best for him? What about what’s best for me...that's easy. _You_. You _living_. That’s what’s best for me. I can’t relive your death all over again; I'm already broken. I can't handle being ground into ash, otherwise there will be nothing left. “I cannot distinguish between reality and memories anymore. It’s only a matter of time…” My throat constricts again and I have to squeeze out the last few words, “Before I kill you.”

“Enough!” he screams back. He rips his hand free and shoves me away. The entirety of his body, from the tip top of that red head down to the those sock covered toes, is trembling. “What the hell are you talking about?” His eyes roll upwards and meet mine, glinting. It’s almost as though a wild beast has seized your body and taken control. How thrilling is this, Misaki? Is this what you wanted? Is this the feeling you were craving?  _ Fear _ ? “Saruhiko!” he snaps. “Answer me.”

“You should run,” I snort. “And yet here you stand. Are you mentally incompetent?” You really are an idiot. “Don’t you get it?” My facial muscles twist as I sneer at him. Is this making you happy? Do you still care for me now? You won’t when I explain the truth to you. You couldn’t possibly. “I believe I told you once already that these flashbacks are something that I do not understand and that I cannot control.”

“What does that have to do with you and Dewa?” he shoots back at me.

“Still don’t get it? I tried to kill him because I was remembering myself as Nagare, as if I were attacking myself.” Glare to frown. Anger to horror. The swift changes in facial expressions cause me to laugh, but even I can hear the hysterical lilt in my voice. Maybe I really am just outright psychotic. Maybe I am more like Nagare than I’d like to believe. How could I possibly be laughing otherwise?

“Y-you’re lying. You’re just trying to distract me. You promised you’d stay. Why are you doing this?”

The laughter catches in my throat . Don’t look at me like that.  _ Knock it off _ . My lips tighten, and I can’t help myself from snarling at him. “Ah yes, because there are  _ so  _ many other explanations that make sense. What  _ exactly _ did you think happened? That I stole it? Or better yet, let me guess, you thought I gave him an open invitation to come into my room, bend me over and fuck me?”

His face flushes. Don’t you  _ dare  _ tell me that is what you actually thought. “Is that all you see when you look at me?” I hiss. “You’d rather think of me as a  _ whore _ than someone who’s going fucking insane. Isn’t that right?” He doesn’t respond. I should have known. I should have, nevertheless it doesn't stop the wretched pain that sears through my chest at the implication. “Get the  _ fuck  _ out of my room, Yata. I’m not going anywhere yet. But you can sure as hell be sure I won’t stay here. I’d rather die. Now get the hell out!”

“No.”

“What did you say?”

“No,” he repeats. I look into his eyes, enraged. Yet my anger seems to mean nothing, for he meets my gaze, defiant. “No, I’m not leaving. You keep on putting words in my mouth. You’re not being fair.”

“ _ Fair _ ?”

“Yes, fair. You are making a bunch of stupid assumptions without giving me any time to think. Will you stop being an asshole for 5 damn seconds? I don’t look at you like that. I never have. And it pisses me off when you accuse me of that shit.”

My anger wavers, fatigue starting to creep into my head. Arguing with you is exhausting, but that isn’t enough. I need a better answer than that. “What else am I supposed to think?”

“Uh, I don’t know.” Are you actually being sarcastic right now?  _ That’s new _ . “Perhaps that I’m surprised, that I’m worried, that I’m angry, that I’m scared. There are many options. Take your pick, you damn bastard.”

My whole body sags, the anger seeping out of me and the tiredness swooping in to take its place. I would be better off staying angry, but I can’t anymore. I’m just too damn tired. “Fine, you’re all of those things. It still doesn’t change what’s happening to me. It doesn’t change what I did to Dewa.”

“Damn it,” he groans. “This is so fucked up. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“Nothing,” I whisper, “there’s nothing you can do.”

“Shut up,” he snaps. “Saruhiko, you really just don’t get it.” His fingers start plucking at the edges of his shirt cuffs in an attempt to get to skin.  _ That again _ . I want to go to you and stop the action, yet I resist the urge to do so. “You,” he pauses and bites his bottom, “you kept me alive. Your memory helped me survive. When I first joined the gang, I took the first opportunity I got to take one of their guns. I tried to kill myself. I even held the gun to my head. But no matter how long I held it there, I couldn’t pull the trigger. In that moment, all I could think about was you and what would happen if you ever came back and I was gone. I couldn’t leave you all alone. So I waited. I waited for so long.” He’s furiously scratching his wrists now, the skin exploding with red welts, soon to be cuts. “Do you know how embarrassing this is? Well, say something will you?!”

I close the distance between us and grab his wrists, stopping the incessant scratching. “Stop that,” I say, hushed. I know. I know those feelings. Those long days I spent crying for you, holding onto myself alone in the dark, begging for you to come find me, praying for you to come back from the grave. “I-I’m sorry.” I’m sorry I couldn’t come back to you. All of this is because of me. I know that. “I’m sorry that it took me so long to come back.” That I caused you so much pain and nearly destroyed you in the process. It seems like all I ever do is cause you pain.

_ Warmth _ . What--what’s going on? Hair tickles my chin as a pair of arms wrap around me. My hands tremble as an unconscious wave of fear spikes and then dissipates. These arms aren’t hurting me. They just are.  _ You’re holding me _ .  _ Misaki _ is holding me despite everything: despite what I’ve done, despite how I’ve hurt him, despite what I’m becoming. _Why_ _?_ I haven't done anything to deserve this. I lift my shaking hands and hesitantly wrap them around his back. Taking the movement as permission, he moves in closer, tightening his arms and pressing our chests together. My head moves of its own accord, dropping down and resting against his despite how my body is still quivering. My eyes begin to itch and I have to squeeze them tight to stave off what I know is coming. I’m not going to cry in front of him. Not again.

“Welcome back, Saru," he whispers. "I missed you. I missed you so much.”

The first tear slides down my cheek and there isn’t a damn thing I can do to stop it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erik was speaking Japanese. Basically he was telling Saruhiko to shut up.


	18. Stagnant Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovely readers! Thank you so much for bearing with me and my ridiculously long posting schedule. The next chapter is FINALLY finished. It was a pain in my ass I tell you.
> 
> Anyways. Prepare yourself for happiness. And PTSD. Yay :D Everyone loves those things...

“And next month I’ll be going out of town for regionals."

My lips twitch. You’re really passionate about this, aren’t you? Can’t say I’m completely surprised. You got your first board when we were six and then proceeded to crash it two days later. I carried you home on my back, you crying the whole way over what ended up being a simple sprained ankle.

I look up at Misaki from my prone position on the bed. He’s leaning against the wall, my head brushing up against his leg while his hand absentmindedly taps my shoulder. Without looking down at me, he awkwardly comments, a faint blush coloring his cheekbones, “You should, uh, you should come with me.”

Come with you? _To the tournament_?

My stomach wrings tightly. Everything I’ve eaten today gurgles in the depths of my stomach as though asking to crawl back up my throat and out from between my parched lips. Having me sitting in the crowd, watching you and assessing your capabilities, that would honestly make you happy? I swallow. That tiny, persistent joyful itch tickles the back of my brain, an itch I have tried so very hard to squash, but that festers nevertheless. That warmth is like a cancer, or rather, a _plague_ , spreading rapidly as it rots away everything in its path.

Despite the happy flush creeping across my skin, my tongue works on its own timetable separate from the rest of me. “You know that’s not possible. I can’t leave here. In fact, they probably should have left me holed up at the police station.” A part of me wishes they had. Then the situation with Dewa never would have happened. But if I _had_ been put on lockdown, I wouldn’t be here now, spending my few remaining moments of precious freedom with you. So at least that’s something.

“Don’t say that! You need to be here with me where I can keep an eye on you.”

Ha! “ _Oh, right_ . _You_ keep an eye on _me_? Are you a moron? Wait don’t answer that. I already know the answer.”

“Shut it!”

“Are you saying I’m wrong?” I ask with a smile.

His nose and lips scrunch up, the awkward look well suited to that cute face of his. “No! W-wait! I mean yes! Damn it!”

The laugh is out of me before I can help it. It shakes my whole body, leaving me breathless. He doesn’t say anything in response, just silently accepts my laughter until I catch my breath and reopen my eyes. My trailing laughter falters. Misaki is looking down at me, a brilliant smile spread across his lips. The smiling face above me is...well it’s...I can’t even conjure up an appropriate word.

“What?” he asks, ending on a self-deprecating laugh. “What’s with that stupid look on your face?”

“You’re a good person, Misaki,” I reply. "I really do wish I could be more like you." I mean it. Every word.

His whole face heats, flushing such a dark red that it’s a wonder he doesn’t pass out from lack of blood flow. “Shut up,” he mutters, nearly unintelligible. “Why would you want that? You’re fine just the way you are.”

You are hilarious. I respond to his comment, chuckling, “You know that’s bullshit."

“No it’s not,” he snaps. He pauses for a moment and then looks away. Gingerly, he continues in a quiet voice, “Hey, Saru?”

“Mmm?”

“When all of this is over, what’re we going to do?”

Huh? “What do you mean?”

“When all of this is over, when you’re free, what do you want to do? Where do you want to go? I don’t know what you’re thinking or how you like it here. You’ve been having a hard time. I know that. But this is my home, and I don’t want to leave.”

“I don’t understand how my fondness of this place, or lack thereof, affects you staying or leaving.”

A look of puzzlement crosses his face. “Why the hell wouldn’t it? I’m staying with you. And if you decide you don’t want to stay, I’ll go with you.”

My cheeks automatically twitch. Misaki, you are such a dumbass. Having you at my side would be...well, I don’t have an appropriate word for that particular feeling, and I have no desire to analyze it. All I know is that the feeling is _not_ a comfortable one. In fact, it's anxiety inducing. I shake my head, as if that’ll help dispel the nervousness starting in the pit of my stomach. Even if staying with me is what you want-- _what I want_ \--that is a non-option. Even you must recognize that, don’t you?

“Misaki,” I sigh, “that’s not a decision I will be able to make. There isn’t a single scenario I can think of that results in Nagare’s capture. I don’t have any options. If I don’t go back to him, I’ll always have to stay in hiding. _Always_.”

His eyes flare, something in my words sparking a crazed fire inside of him. His eyes meet mine, loathing spilling out of him. “Don’t say that. _Ever_. You aren’t ever going back to that man. He can have you over my dead body.”

The repulsed hatred shining in his eyes would make any sane person pause; and yet, I can’t help but adore it. If that makes me perverse, then so be it. Hating Nagare with such a deep abiding passion can only be admired and praised. And you are feeling that on _my_ behalf, for the sake a debased whore. That fact alone makes me want to hug you; although I'm certainly not going to succumb to _that_ temptation. I smile up at him instead, which seems to take him by surprise.

“Is that right?” I comment. “Are you going to challenge Nagare to a skateboarding duel and take him out with your master skills?”

Every muscle in his face collapses into a disgruntled glare. "I think I've already asked this once before; but seriously, can't you go even five minutes without being a total bastard?"

“No."

Through the glare, a little smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. The finger that has been persistently tapping comes to a stop. It then presses down into my shoulder, digging deep into the muscle there. “Stop trying to piss me off.”

“No,” I chortle in return. Pushing your buttons is too much fun. Besides, with so many of them, how could I possibly avoid them all? If there's no way to avoid them, I might as well smash them all.

He cuffs the side of my head, the touch surprisingly hard. Ow. That actually hurt, you dick. “You don’t get to look mad,” he retorts. “You completely deserved it.”

“Maybe.”

We both fall silent, just as a soft vibration begins to pulse against the top of my head. Cell phone, I theorize. “You going to get that?”

“Huh? Oh, oh! Shit!” He fumbles with his pocket, the back of his hand hitting my head in the process. “Shit! Sorry!” Yeah, yeah, just shut up and answer your damn phone. He finally gets the phone out of his pocket and brings it to his ear. “Yeah? Whaddya want?”

He stays silent for a few seconds before snapping, “I already told you. It’s the freezer next to the--no, not there. The 3rd shelf on the right. Find it? Okay, okay. Got it.” He pauses. “What does he want? Fine, hand the phone to him.” Another pause. “What is it? Wait a second, you’re heading where? What the hell for? Wait, what?!”

He sneaks a glance down at me, trying hard to avoid my gaze and failing in spades. He’s silent for a long time before he responds. "That’s complete bullshit and you know it! I’m not going to--” he bites his lip. After holding himself silent for a full minute, he bursts out, “What the fuck?! I am calm! You can’t make me stay--” he falls silent again.

Oh for fuck’s sake. What are they going on about this time? Does the police chief have his panties in a twist again? Has he finally put his foot down and demanded I be questioned? It certainly wouldn’t surprise me.

“Fine,” he growls into the phone. “Yeah, yeah, _sure_ . Okay, fine.” The conversation ends with a resounding, “ _Goodbye_ ,” snarled into the receiver. A finger slides over the phone’s surface and the call ends.

When he doesn’t immediately offer up an explanation, I wryly comment, “Care to share what that was all about?”

The refusal to look at me says it all. _Great_. They better not be expecting me get all coiffed--change clothes, brush my hair and teeth, and all that bullshit. I’ll go in without a fight, sure, but I’m certainly not putting any effort into it. I sigh and close my eyes. “So when is that pompous asshole of a Captain sending someone to pick me up? By the sounds of that conversation, I’m presuming someone is coming out today, maybe even right now.”

I open my eyes and find him staring down at me. His expression is torn--uncertainty quickly tainting his anger. “Yeah, they’re on their way right now. Kusanagi said I can’t go with you.”

Ah. I see. So that’s what’s making you so temperamental. “It’s okay,” I murmur. “I’ll be fine. I’m not concerned.” The idea may have troubled me before, but after all of these encounters with Ishi, Dewa and the like, I can’t imagine that this whiny ass police chief could possibly be _that_ intimidating. Now the questions he’s going to ask me are sure to be infuriating; however, anger is far easier to control than fear. Most emotions are.

There’s a loud crash from downstairs. I shoot upwards, practically leaping off of the bed. What in the ever loving _fuck_ was that? Misaki climbs off the bed behind me, significantly slower. Is this _normal_ for you? Is this how people usually come into the house? That noise couldn't have possibly been made by someone from the station. Right?

Their steps are loud, thunking down hard on each squeaking step as they ascend upward. Perhaps it’s Chitose, back with a horde to drag me off. _Kill me_. There’s absolutely nowhere to run in this house and not a single weapon in sight beyond the lamp. Unfortunately for me, that lamp is the only damn thing lighting this room currently. Hands it is, I guess.

The steps don’t stop until they reach my door. _Shit_. The thick door practically rips off its hinges, slapping against the wall as if it were nothing. That assuredly left a sizable dent in the wall. I hope they don’t expect me to pay for that. I look at the men in the doorway and feel a cold shiver ripple down my spine, the scars on my back seeming to burn and throb. You aren’t Chitose at all. You’re something worse. Far worse.

_Run. Run. Run._

“Mikoto-san!” Misaki calls out. I don’t turn my head to look at his face. His voice sounds pleased, yet confused. The tone does nothing to reassure me. “What’re you doing here? Didn’t you have stuff to do today? Kusanagi didn’t tell me you were coming. And why is that jack-off here?” I catch the slight movement of his hand from the corner of my eye as he points at the Captain. “I thought they were sending Awashima-san.”

“Mmm, so this is the boy, huh?” The man’s voice is slow, measured, _deep_ . I knew from the photos on the Captain’s desk that they were of a similar height. But seeing them standing there together in the flesh isn’t anything like I imagined. Suoh Mikoto’s sheer presence is disconcerting in a way the Captain’s is not-- _it’s fucking terrifying_ . His eyes flash to the end table next to my bed, spotting the accursed hat that I just _had_ to grab from the floor. A dark, smoldering burn pulses in his expression, despite the lack of physical response. _Fuck_. “Dewa is laid up in the hospital, Misaki. Go see him and let me know how’s he doing. We’ll talk later.”

“Ask Chitose to go. I’m not going anywhere. Seriously, what’s going on?”

A snort catches in my throat. My lips curl, sneering, thinly veiling the fear I know must be virtually oozing from every pore on my body, visible for all to see. You’re joking , Misaki. Surely. Or are you really just that damn stupid? That cussed expression on Mikoto’s face is directed right at me. He’s going to bleed me dry for what I’ve done. You’re just too much of a _fucking moron_ to notice.

“So much for this little vacation,” I hiss. “Glad to hear that bastard didn’t go and die on me.”

“Fushimi-kun,” the Captain’s voice cuts in, a counterpoint to the steadying hand he places on the red haired man’s shoulder. What are you--his handler? Is that why you’re here? To keep your mongrel of a boyfriend in line? “That’s enough. Zenjou is downstairs to help transport you back to the station. You have a meeting with the police director this afternoon. When your interview with him is complete, he will make a determination regarding your living arrangements and if here is the best place for you. That decision is also contingent upon Suoh’s approval. Your confrontation with Dewa has to be considered before that decision can be made."

My teeth begin to grind unconsciously and I do my best to give him the flattest expression I can muster. Glad to know everyone has complete confidence in their ability to determine what’s best for me. I respond with a withering sneer, “Is that so? Well, good to know the police have everything handled.”

“Hold up!” Misaki yells. “What do you mean ‘living arrangements’? He’s not going anywhere! The fight with Dewa was an accident!"

“Misaki,” Mikoto warns with a deep, growling rumble. He doesn't need to finish the thought to be understood.

“What the hell?!” None of his movements are visible to me, however, I can feel Misaki’s whole body tighten. Is that the tone he uses to scold you? Or threaten you? Considering the baleful look in his eyes, I would love to know the answer to that question. Shame that there really isn’t the time.

Mikoto is unphased my Misaki’s yells. He simply takes another step into the room, rolling his shoulder back to try and throw off the Captain’s hand. Don’t come any closer you monstrosity! My limbs throb, my traitorous feet sliding backwards and knocking into MIsaki. _Stop that, Saruhiko_ . He looks like some sort of _beast_ , though. What else _can_ I do? Hold on now, why the fuck am I arguing with myself again? This is not the time to be arguing with myself over such insignificant details.

“Saru?” I feel a hand on my shoulder and a brush of an arm against my back, a touch I want to find comforting and yet is anything but. Misaki’s not going to protect me from this man--not the man who saved him from his own personal hell. This man is practically a father to him; and all boys want to impress their fathers. Even I did at one time.

I press back into the pressure of his arm, preparing to springboard from it and chance running. Before I get the opportunity, I hear a soft whisper, “What’s wrong? You’re shaking.”

 _Fucking Christ_ . He’s right. The hand on my shoulder tightens, causing my minute flicker of courage to wither and die. I hiss at him over my shoulder, “ _Shut up, Misaki_.”

Gah! What the--?! I stumble as I’m yanked backwards, falling against the man standing behind me. “ _Shut up_?” he snaps. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

My heart pounds, fluttering against my chest bone. This hand, this voice--it’s just Misa-chan, no one else. Calm down, Saruhiko. I try to draw in a haggard breath; however, the attempt is futile when I turn my focus back to the doorway. Mikoto is becoming restless, visibly trying to shake off the Captain’s grasp as the two of them stare each other down. I can’t breathe. He’s going to kill me. There’s nowhere for me to hide and not a single person who will protect me.

Misaki's arm snakes around my chest from behind, his face pressing against my back as he holds me steady. “Seriously,” he mutters against my shirt, “don’t provoke Boss. What happened earlier was an accident. Mikoto-san will understand once we fully explain the situation to him. But being an asshole is just going to piss him off more. So could at least _try_ to be nicer?”

The hand resting over my heart is warm, soothing even. If I could, I would close my eyes, forget all else but the feeling of that one hand. But I cannot. Those sharp brown eyes follow Misaki’s movements, livid at his subordinate’s audacity to try and protect me after what I’ve done. He must think I tricked you, seduced you with my false snake's tongue whilst opening my legs and inviting you in. I've seen that look on other men’s faces. _He’s going to torture me._

“Mis-” I cannot finish the word. Please let go. I have to get away. My whole throat swells, my hand convulsing as it reaches for his. Let go. _Let go_!

_“Saruhiko.” The voice is soft as silk, soft as a feather, gliding over my skin. He’s smiling again, but the look in his eyes...it’s paralyzing..._

_“Nii-chan,” I whisper, the tears ebbing faster, sliding down my cheeks and coating my lips. I don’t know what I did wrong! “Please, Nii-chan. I’m sorry.”_

_A leg swings out, the foot connecting with my stomach. It hurts! I can’t breathe!_

_“Saruhiko, this is punishment. Your behavior today was unsatisfactory.” The foot swings again, connecting with my chest this time._

_“N-nii-cha-n,” I whimper, unable to move or even cry out._

_“Your choices today were unfortunate. Do you disagree?”_

_“N-no.” I still don’t understand. But I must have done something terrible. It must be my fault. I’m a bad boy. I deserve this._

“Saru?" The tone of that word brings my vision into focus, although I can barely think or even seem to draw breath. Wh-where? Misa-chan?

“ _Suoh_!” a man’s voice rings out from across the small space. “That’s enough! I know why you’re here, but I warned you, didn’t I? If you’re going to intimidate him and threaten him, I’ll be forced to throw you out.”

“ _Munakata_ ,” he growls, “I have yet to even speak to him.”

 _Munakata..._ That’s right. The Captain. I’m at HOMRA. And the Captain came to get me.

“And what exactly do you hope to accomplish? You haven't even tried to speak with him. You’ve done nothing but stare him down from the moment you walked in the door. I'm not going to let you continue with this ridiculous posturing. You’re done here, Mikoto."

“Hmm? Are you telling me what to do in my own house, Reisi?”

The Captain steps in close, their bodies flush as he leans in, his voice soft when he replies, “Yes, I am. You forget who and what we’re dealing with here. He’s not a gang runner or an ex-con. He’s an abuse and a rape victim. If you continue as you are, attempting to herd him into a corner with no means of escape, he’ll have another breakdown and there’s no guarantee he’ll recover. Do you understand me?”

The words vaguely compute in my head, but not enough for me to come up with a witty retort as would be my norm. The redhead turns his gaze back to me, the eyes a strange mix of fury tempered by curiosity. My body reacts instinctively, shrinking backwards into the person behind me in a meager attempt to shield itself. Stay the _fuck_ away from me. When the man catches sight of my movement, a wave of surprised recognition passes through his eyes.

A pained voice starts speaking from behind me, “Saruhiko, Mikoto-san isn’t going to hurt you.”

“ _Bullshit_ ,” I manage to snarl through a much needed gasp. And why in the hell do _you_ sound upset? There’s nothing for you to be worried about. He’s not coming to torture _you_.

“MOVE. NOW.” My eyes snap back up at the sound. “Captain, with all due respect, I believe I warned you this might happen. Your attachment to Suoh-san is clouding your judgment.” Zenjou pushes past the two men in the doorway and calmly walks towards me. Thank the fucking gods. My tightened muscles let themselves go. I feel like collapsing, or better yet, crying. Why the hell I would have either of those reactions at the sight of this man, or any man for that matter, is a mystery. “Yata-san, let him go.”

“Why the hell should I listen to you?” he snaps.

“It’s okay,” I whisper hoarsely. “Please let go.”

“No.”

“Misa-chan.  _Please_.”

He relents at the sound of his name. Each finger slowly peels away. He is so reluctant I can practically hear the ‘no’ mantra going through his head. My legs shake, barely holding me up. It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay. Zenjou is here. He’ll take care of me. He’ll protect me. I stumble forward and stop in front of him. “Are you okay?” he asks me quietly.

For the first time, perhaps in my entire damned life, I feel compelled to respond honestly. “No.” Although the word is whispered, I know he hears me. He steps in closer and I unashamedly take the offer. My head falls forward and rests against his warm chest. This day, days even, are never-ending. I am weak. So damn fucking weak. How can a man’s physical presence cause such a wretched, pathetic reaction? I blink. Tears begin to run down my cheeks, although I have no idea why. No one has hit me. No one has raped me. All I know is that I’m choking on tears for no recognizable reason. Why does this keep happening? My rational brain and my emotional one don’t ever seem to be in sync. It’s like watching some alien take over your body while you’re still trapped inside. You can pound against its walls. Yell at it. Punch it. Kick it. All of it useless. You might as well be chained and gagged for all the good it does you.

Zenjou’s one arm wraps behind my back. “It’s going to be okay. I’ve got you. Nothing is going to happen to you, alright? It’s okay.”

I focus my thoughts on those gently murmured words, breathing deeply in and out. We stand like that until my breathing evens out and the crying finally succumbs to my demands for silence. “Fushimi-kun.”

“Yes?” I whisper.

“Shall we go down to the car now? The others can work on the remaining details and meet us when they’re done.”

My response is little more than a tiny nod. God I want this day to be fucking over. Each and every one of these breakdowns is exhausting, each one ripping out a part of me. Since leaving the hospital, my every waking moment has just been an endless stream of emotional horrors, each one chiseling away at whatever strength I have remaining. Something will have to give way eventually. Maybe if I’m lucky, I just won’t wake up the next time I go to sleep. Whichever god is listening, could you _please_ do me a favor and let me die? I’m barely keeping my shit together. I don't know how I'm supposed to handle this or where I'm supposed to go from here. There isn't any escape from this black emptiness.

Zenjou’s hand drops away from my back and he steps back. I use my sleeve to wipe my face before lifting my head. The open disdain pulsing between the three men in the room is palpable. The look Zenjou is giving Mikoto and the Captain is one I don’t think I’ll ever have the opportunity to see again in my lifetime. It’s the most deadly I’ve ever seen him, but it’s also the most comforting thing I've seen since this whole fiasco began. I know I shouldn’t let myself get attached. I know I shouldn’t put my faith in anyone. I know that. But I just can’t seem to help myself.

Despite the fact that he’s watching the two men near the doorway, I can feel Zenjou’s attention tracking my every movement. I walk the few steps needed to get to my shoes and socks. Sitting down, I pull them on, trying my hardest to keep my gaze from wandering. When I finish, I stand back up and head over to Zenjou’s side, getting as close as possible without actually touching him. If Mikoto lunges for me, I’ll need his protection.

“Saru?” I hear the whispered word, but I don’t turn around.

I’m sorry, Misa-chan. I can’t give you the comfort you’re looking for. You’ll have to figure things out on your own. “It’s okay, Misaki. I’ll be back.”

“B-but--! Wait!”

I walk out with Zenjou, refusing to respond to Misaki's cries that follow me out of the room. Mikoto and the Captain don’t try to comment as we pass by them and into the hallway. We descend the stairs in silence, reaching the bottom and exiting the house. There’s a black SUV parked out front, all of the windows tinted black. Zenjou pulls open the back door and motions me inside. "Go on. Get some rest. This might take some time. I’ll keep watch out here until the Captain is done.”

I mutter, “Okay” and then climb inside, the door snapping shut behind me. Now what? I don’t want to think. I don’t want to do anything. Misa-chan sounded so upset. There really isn’t anything I can do to help him though. He’ll just have to take comfort knowing that Zenjou is watching over me.

The backseat of the car is enormous. Plenty of space to simply lie down. I curl up on what I’m assuming is fake leather and close my eyes. Just don’t think. There’s nothing to worry about. Everything is going to be okay. It’s going to be okay...

 

 _I step into the flickering light of the living room, where Nii-chan is lying asleep on the sofa. I’m hungry. So very very hungry. But Nii-chan doesn’t ever cook. I don’t think he knows how. I kick a pile of clothes out of the way and step into the kitchen. Dishes are piled everywhere and it’s starting to stink. Eeewwwww. Is that a fly? Gross! I guess_ I’ll _have to clean the apartment._ Again _. I dig around in the nearest drawer and find a sponge, wrapped up and shoved way in the back. Who knows how long it’s been in there. I can’t remember the last time anyone actually cleaned the dishes._

_Stacking up the plates and cups, I clear out the sink so the water can be turned on and the sink filled. It’s warm, but not hot. Only Mommy could wash the dishes with the water steaming. I miss her. I wish she'd come home. I know Nii-chan said she was gone forever, but I wish he was wrong. I wish he were lying. I grab a dish and scrub hard with the sponge, angrily wiping at my face with my sleeve. Stop crying, Saruhiko. Don’t be an idiot. But I can’t help it. I just cry even harder._

_I’m coughing on a sob when I hear a loud bang on the door. Who the heck is that?!_

_“_ _Nii-chan!” I scream._

_“Who in the fuck?” He sits up, his eyes red and crusty. He stands, stumbling, almost falling over as he heads towards the door while the pounding continues. No, Nii-chan! Don’t! Don’t open the door! He’s going to open it anyways. I dive for the cupboards, opening the doors and crawling inside, knocking over spray bottles and old musty food boxes. The dark surrounds me and I close my eyes, hugging my legs to my chest as I hear the front door crash open. What’s going on?! I’m scared!_

_“Hello, hello. Long time, no see, Fu. Shi. Mi. Kun. I’ve missed looking at that stupid, pretty little face of yours. How have you been?”_

_“Don’t call me that, you fucker."_

_“Hmm? No?”_

_“No,” he snarls in return._

_“So ungrateful. Why shouldn’t I call you that? Wasn’t it me who gave you life?” He says the words as if he’s singing. I don’t know why, but the sound of it frightens me. I curl my arms tighter, pulling in my legs as close as possible._

_“Unfortunately. Doesn’t mean I have to take your name though, you narcissistic shithole.”_

_“Yes, yes, I know. You were far more attached to that whore mother of yours.”_

_“She raised me,” Nii-chan yells back. Why are they arguing about Mommy? Please stop talking about her; it makes me sad when you do._

_“Ah, well, no matter.” The man pauses for a quick second before saying, “I’m sure you know why I came to this filthy dump of yours?”_

_“I told you I’d have it next week.”_

_“Sure. You said that two weeks ago. I’ve already given you two extensions. I’m not giving you another one. Where’s the money?”_

_“I don’t have your money,” Nii-chan whispers._

_“Is that so? Maybe I should lace the next batch with arsenic then. It would be an enjoyable show for me at least.”_

_“Fuck you.”_

_“Now, now, don’t get your knickers in a twist. Let me give you some friendly, fatherly advice.”_

_“Piss off, Niki.”_

_“By the look of this dump, you really don’t have another choice. The way I see it, you have two options at this point. Either you can take your mother’s place and work it off--”_

_“I’ve already told you ‘no’ multiple times. My answer is still the same.”_

_“--or you can sell off the only thing you have left to bargain with. Granted, I gave you that too, so you really should be thanking me. Your lack of gratitude is astounding.”_

_“What do you m--” he stops halfway through the question and doesn’t try to continue. “You can’t be serious. How in the hell do you expect me to find someone--”_

_“How is the little mongrel, anyways? I haven’t seen him since I arrived.”_

_“Again, who--”_

_“Here, take this. If you decide you aren’t willing to open your legs, then call that number. I get buyers coming around all the time. I haven’t worked with this guy yet, but he’s been sniffing around for some young ones.” What are they talking about? Sell what? If Nii-chan has enough money to buy the ‘medicine’ that makes him a class-A jerk, why would he owe Mommy’s boss anything?_

_“Just think about what you want to do. I’ll be back on Monday. And let me be clear here. If you don’t have my money in hand, I will kill you. You’re no use to me a penniless, homeless waste of space. I’ll bring the boys and the van next time. If I have to kill you, at least I can use your organs to make back the money you owe me. Do we understand each other?”_

_“Clearly. Now get the hell out.”_

 

“Fushimi-kun? We’re here. Are you awake?”

Hmm? I open my eyes and rub at them. Disgusting--they’re all crusty. My body is horrendously sore too. _Argh_. Sitting up, I stretch out my back and look around. Oh yeah, I was resting in the backseat of the police car. I must have fallen asleep. Even with the sore muscles though, I’m feeling remarkably better. I’m not hallucinating or crying so score one for me. “Yeah, I’m awake.”

I look at the front seat and find that only Zenjou is still in the car. Where the hell is the Captain? Did he already go inside? Zenjou climbs out of the car. I follow suit, opening the door and sliding out. He closes the door behind me and we head up the pathway towards the entrance. As we enter into the police station, it finally occurs to me...we’re going to walk through narcotics again. I wonder if he’ll remember me…

It’s almost as if Zenjou can read my mind, the clever bastard. He closes the distance between us, flanking me, as we enter into Narcotics. The loud hustle and bustle of the office is exactly the same as last time. Unsurprisingly, I can audibly hear the softening of voices as we enter--just as it did the last time we were here. From my side, I can hear Zenjou muttering, his voice furiously heated, “They told us he wasn’t going to be on duty today.”

Oh ho, so what’s his face, with the whiskey breath and the foul mouth is here, is he? _Finally_ something amusing to brighten my shitty day. I immediately look over towards his desk and his eyes meet mine without a moment’s hesitation. The corner of my lips curl up into the most denigrative smirk I can manage. Every fiber of my being does its utmost to perceptively exude the repulsed contempt I feel merely looking at that fucker’s face. You’re no better than a sack of rotting, odious dog shit. Comparatively speaking though, the dog shit does have more value. You could feasibly kill somebody with that.

His nostrils flare and his eyes narrow into slits, the look one of absolute, all-consuming loathing. Is that glower the best you can do? Really? And after all we’ve been through together? I tilt my head slightly to the side, revealing the long line of my pale neck. This is one of Yukari’s favorite spots, you know. Countless hours have been spent nibbling and sucking, biting and caressing the skin just here, waiting for the perfect moment when the redness morphs into bruises. There must be _something_ appealing about it. Ever so gently, I lift my forefinger to my pulse and drag it down my neck, mouthing to him  with each word enunciated, ‘ _Suck. Me_.’

The man leaps from his seat, his face flushed red with fury. There we go! Now that’s what I’m talking about! That’s a performance worthy of applause. “Fushimi-kun.” Zenjou’s hand lands on my shoulder and squeezes, clear and unarguable. “Keep walking.”

A part of me twinges, _almost_ guilty. I don’t like it when Zenjou scolds me. It makes me feel uncomfortable,  enough to make me squirm like a child being told off. “ _Fine_ ,” I sigh.

Despite my agreement, he keeps his hand on my shoulder, pushing me along and hurrying me through the office so I am unable to see what happens next. That’s a shame. We reach the doors to the sex crimes division and push them open. There's a flurry of movement from all sides, people yelling and phones ringing. I gaze around the open space, pausing when I hear a vaguely familiar voice. “If you can’t tell me what’s happening, then find me someone who can. Imbecile.”

Where the hell do I know that voice from?

“We already told you on the phone, ma’am. We don’t have any information yet about your sister. We have one witness at the moment, but the official interview hasn’t been conducted yet. Once we have more details, we’ll let you know immediately.”

The response is cold and measured. “That is the exact same information you gave me 5 days ago. And honestly, how the hell does it take five days to conduct an interview? Who is running this office? I’d like to speak to your boss. Now, please.”

I finally find the source of the voice--a sharply dressed blonde, glasses and skirt suit included. She turns her head, the flash of green eyes catching my attention and bringing me to a complete halt. Minus a few extra age lines around her eyes, she’s an exact carbon copy of her--the woman who begged for her life just moments before Ishi put a dagger through her.

“Fushimi-kun, is everything alright?”

The woman’s eyes narrow as they regard my reaction. I cannot help but still, cold shooting through every vein and paralyzing me. Fuck, _fuck_. My hands spasm. It’s as though I can feel the blood all over again--my hands dripping with it, the thick liquid soaking my shirt and seeping into the scars spread across my back. The woman’s look is apathetic, revealing nothing, unlike the vivid, bare-faced hysteria reflected on her sister’s face as each blade hit home. Vomit tickles the back of my throat and my vision swims. You aren’t a ghost. You are real. You are actually here.

“You,” she mutters, “are the witness.” It’s not a question, but a statement of fact.

I breathe in deep through my nose, swallowing down the desire to puke and attempting to school my expression into something less revealing. “Yes,” I respond. The word is clear--not a single stutter. The calm in my voice surprises even me.

She’s heading over my way before the policeman can stop her. Zenjou shifts, his frame pushing me backwards and partially shielding me. “Excuse me miss,” he says. “As much as I understand your frustration, we cannot allow you to question the witness. After the interviewing process is complete, the two of you may speak if he so wishes.”

Her face is blank. “I don’t see where you get the authority to tell me who I can and cannot speak to regarding this matter. If this station was competent at its job, I wouldn’t be here now would I? I’m a lawyer, sir. I know my rights.” Her eyes snap back to mine. “Do you know who did this? Do you know what happened to my sister?”

“Yes,” I respond simply. Yes, I do. However, you are undoubtedly mistaken if you believe you want to know what happened to your sister. You may not realize it yet, but if you were to understand the whole truth of the matter, you would be devastated.

“Fushimi-kun,” Zenjou says quietly, “don’t say anything else.”

“She’s dead," I continue, earning a grunt from my companion. “That’s all you need to know.”

Her eyes don’t change. “Do not make presumptions about me, child.”

No? Fine. Here are some basic facts for you. I continue numbly, "She suffered, horribly." I do not think about the words coming out of my mouth; I simply meet her eyes and allow that green gaze to swallow me whole. “She was stabbed, tortured, and raped. She died a very slow and painful death. The men who murdered her have evaded both the police and the FBI. Frankly speaking, you’re better off burying your sister and moving on. Forget any of this ever happened.”

The muscles around her eyes tighten, but no other movement is detectable. She’s just as stony faced as before, her true emotions buried so deep it’s as though she has none at all. “There’s more to it than that. Particularly if the FBI are involved.”

 _Shit_. You didn’t know? Then what _do_ you know? Your sister was murdered? Is that it? Don’t try to manipulate me to get more information. I _don’t_ like it. “Have they explained to you how she died?”

“Not in so many words, no.”

“Fushimi-kun.” A firm hand lands on my shoulder causing my body to flinch away. I look next to me and let out a sigh when I see the Captain standing there. Thank fuck you aren’t Ishi. Despite today’s earlier disaster, you are still the least offensive person here after Zenjou. Although insufferable, you’re at least intelligent--at times--and moderately kind. “The Chief is ready for you now. Let us go play this game, shall we?” He looks up at the woman and smiles. “I apologize ma’am, but this conversation will need to be continued at another time. I’m Captain Munakata and I am head of this department. My Lieutenant, Awashima, will be in shortly. Please speak with her and set up an appointment. You and I can discuss your sister’s case at that time. Thank you.”

He firmly pushes me, directing me away from Zenjou and the now glaring blonde as we head back towards the offices. “She’s gonna drill you,” I murmur. “You should’ve just let her finish asking me questions.”

“That’s not how this works, Fushimi-kun.” I open my mouth to retort, but close it again almost instantaneously. What’s the point? He doesn’t listen to me anyways. I can’t even get him to drop the ‘kun’ when speaking to me. Arguments with this man appear to be futile. "As clever as you think you are,”--screw you--”you forget that, as police officers, we train for these types of conversations. The information we provide and how we direct a conversation is practiced and planned. If I allowed you to continue your conversation, you could have inadvertently revealed information that is better kept confidential at this point in the investigation. You understand, don’t you?”

“Impeccably,” I respond.

"There is no need to sound so disgruntled.”

“I can’t help it. Listening to the bullshit that comes out of your mouth makes me disgruntled.”

When he chuckles, I can’t stop myself from looking up at him. Nothing I say or do seems to bother you. Why? Besides a cursory irritation or frustration, I don't believe you've ever legitimately been _angry_ with me before. "Why are you laughing? Why aren’t you angry?”

“What would that accomplish? There isn’t any benefit from getting upset right now. Ignoring insults is a given when speaking with you. You’re words are always cutting; it’s simply a part of your character.”

Oh, ha ha. Jackass. “Thank you for your analysis. Glad to know you think so highly of me.”

“When did I ever say I think highly of you?” He smirks to himself, pointedly looking anywhere and everywhere but in my direction. “Understanding you and admiring you are very different things, you see."

“Thank you for that clarification,” I snark back at him.

“Of course. Any time.” Your sarcasm was not requested at any point during the course of this conversation. “You know,” he continues, “there is a wealth of knowledge I could teach you. You’re smart, smarter than anyone on my staff. It’s a shame you let it all go to waste.”

Tch. Stop trying to suck up to me. You’re delusional, that’s what you are. “I don’t see how my intelligence is relevant. Beyond my knowledge of Nagare, there really isn’t anything I can offer you. Besides, how are you so sure about my intelligence? You barely know me.”

“I read all your notes.” What are you talking about? What notes? “Did you know that you’ve filled over 300 notebooks? And those are just the ones we recovered. You seem to be on an accelerated university curriculum, but your work suggests that it’s far too simple for you.”

“You read my notebooks? All of them?” I stop walking entirely and the Captain follows suit. You’re talking about my study notes--years and years worth of materials read and analyzed and dictated. “When could you have possibly had the time? And why would you even want to? They’re just scribbles. I’ve put a lot of work in, but there is only so much one can learn from textbooks.”

“Ahh, and that is where you are wrong. With the right textbooks and the proper teacher, you could be in a graduate program within a few months. Or, if you were so inclined, you could actually put that brain of yours to use and work under me.”

A coughing bark of laugh bursts out of me. “Heh. _V_ _ery funny_. How do you suggest I come work for you with bullets flying at my head from every direction? Furthermore, working under you sounds distasteful at best. No offense intended of course.”

“Of course,” he murmurs, still smiling. "You may be unaware of this, but the whole point of this endeavor, is to put your master in prison so we don’t have those concerns any longer.”

“Yeah, good luck with that. How exactly do you intend to accomplish that? Your staff wasn’t even aware of Nagare's most obscene websites."

“You could help us gain access to those websites.”

“ _Sure_. Even if I was willing--which I’m not--how am I am supposed to hack these sites with 10 year old coding and computer knowledge?” I look up at him, hoping the challenge of my words gets across to him. But his gaze is as obstinate as ever, the cocksucker. I sigh. Let's try explaining the futility of this a different way. "Listen. Do you know why all of those notebooks exist? Because I haven’t touched a computer in over five years. The only technology I own is a TV and a blu-ray player, neither of which have internet capabilities. Until a few days ago, I didn’t even know what a modern computer looked like. Given that knowledge, do you still think I can help you?”

“Yes,” he says without the slightest bit of hesitation. “How did you learn how to use computers before?”

“What do you mean?"

“I’d venture to guess you taught yourself, using just the internet and a handful of books. Am I wrong?” I don’t respond. “I didn’t think so.” Arrogant prick. How else would I have done it? “You did it once. I don’t have any doubt that you can do it again. You’re the only one here doubting your capabilities. Just think about it.” He doesn’t say another word. With one last brief look at me, he continues on along the hallway.

I trail after him. “I know you’re just saying all of this because you feel guilty about what happened today.” My teeth grind together at the mere remembrance. “Furthermore, don’t think I’ve forgotten what you said about the chief. I’m going to make an educated guess that the chief has already been suggesting I be locked up here, instead of staying at HOMRA. The way I see it, you’re trying to find a way to convince me that being held captive at this location, instead of the other, would be a marvelous idea. _Am I wrong_?”

The Captain chuckles. “You are very astute, I’ll give you that. But even if that is true--” I snort. “Even if that is true, nothing of what I said is a lie. I honestly want you to consider my offer. You have a lot of potential, and I’d hate to see it wasted. No matter how intelligent you are, the outside world isn’t going to understand your past and why you don’t have a proper education.”

“Thank you for your concern, but you know all of this speculation is useless without Nagare behind bars, or better yet, dead. And I have yet to see any evidence that this will be accomplished.”

“Hmm..."

No need to sound so convinced.

Our conversation is brought to an end as we stop in front of a single black door, a large, two-way window running along the remainder of the wall. The Captain pushes the door open, moving off to the side and allowing me to enter. Once I get inside, he follows me in and closes the door, the click making me jump. Hold on, now. Why are you closing it? Zenjou isn’t here...unless, of course, you don't intend on him being in the room with us. Figures that'd be the case.

“Ah, Fushimi-san! We finally meet!” I look across the room at the man standing next to a thick, rectangular table. I take it you’re the police chief? Chubby, old, and haggard--the top three descriptor words for you. You aren’t nearly as intimidating as others perceive you to be. In fact, relative to the other man in this room, you are nothing. "I’m Director Samukawa. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Why don’t you take a seat?”

I look over at the Captain. Do I have to? It’s as if he can read my mind. I don’t know if I’m more disturbed or impressed. His lips twist into another smirk. "Please sit down, Fushimi-kun. Then we can start.”

Alright, fine then. I take a seat opposite Samukawa, whilst the Captain stands off to the side. The room is made of grey cement, unwelcoming and cold. The mirror sticks out on it like a dark, square hole, its shiny surface reflecting back an image of a pale boy. The boy's hair is a ragged, choppy mess. His brightly colored eyes practically pop from his skull, stark and empty as they look out through a pair of glasses. _Jesus Christ_. I look fucking _awful_ . Nagare and Yukari  have really poor fucking taste. Jesus. I really _do_ look like a whore.

“So Fushimi-san,” Samukawa continues as he sits down. “I don’t want you to be worried. This is just a simple interview. I will ask you some questions, and all I need from you is to answer honestly. Do you think you can do that?”

“ _Sure_.”

He responds, painfully oblivious to the clear, unrepentant sarcasm in my voice, “Great! Legally, I do have to inform you that there is a camera running. It’s up in the corner of the room, nothing too crazy, just a simple camera so we have a physical record of your interview.”

Oh yes, that’s just _perfect_. That way, Ishi doesn’t need to send any communications to Nagare regarding my behavior. He can just hand over a copy of the damn tape. You dipshit! Are you insane?! You might as well hand over a gun now and I’ll put myself out of my misery. You’re actions are practically begging for me to be strung up and tortured to death.

Despite my mental ravings, I respond to his question with a clear and steady, “I understand.”

“Good, good. So let’s get started shall we?” He opens up a singular folder sitting on the table and pulls out a sheet of paper. From his suit pocket he pulls out a pen and clicks it on. “Alright. So explain for me, if you will, your relationship with Nagare.”

Steady now, Saruhiko. There is nothing to fear here. You are in control. What you do or don’t say is completely up to you. The word’s you chose can be nothing more than empty lies and partial truths--simple, clear, and concise.  “Nagare is my master.”

“Care to elaborate a bit on what that means?”

No. I really don’t. “I am his personal sex slave.”

“And?”

 _And_? You keep on beating around the bush. Just ask whatever it is that you want to ask. “I’m not sure what other information you are looking for. Care to elaborate?” My tone doesn’t change, but the repetitive question gets my point across.

“What I mean to say is, what is your role within the organization? What other functions do you perform?”

“None. I don’t serve the organization in any capacity. I sometimes watch shoots and I sometimes get filmed. That’s it.”

“Hmm, I see. And what can you tell me about the shoots you watch? What sticks out to you?”

What kind of question is that? What sticks out to me? How about the blood, or better yet, the screaming? Those two things certainly stick out to me. “Nothing, I just watch.”

“So you don’t perform any other tasks while on set?"

“No.”

He sighs, scribbling down a few words, and then looking back up. “What can you tell me about the organization and how it functions? Who works with Nagare the most and what is their role?”

I believe you already know the answer to that. My voice is flat when I reply, “Nothing. I don’t know anything about the organization. Nagare’s top men you already know, so there’s no point in my telling you.”

“Camera, remember? We want to have a record in your own words.”

Alright, I’ll give you a little bone to nibble on. It’s the very least I can do. “Yukari and Iwa-san are his top men. What they do for the organization I don’t know. All I can tell you is that Iwa-san is my teacher and Yukari fucks me. I’ve already told your men this before, but, _for the camera_ _and all_ , I’ll remind you that the videos you have of me are from Nagare’s general porn sites. All of my videos on those sites are of me and Yukari.” Roll those repetitive, half truths around in your brain for a while. See if you can distinguish fact from fiction.

“I see.” He scribbles another note on his paper. “So Yukari and Iwa...what can you tell me about them? And how about the other people who work alongside Nagare? Is there anything you can tell me about them?”

“Nothing.”

Those thin lips of his twist into something resembling a smile, albeit a condescending one. “You and I both know that’s a lie. Is there a reason why you are aren’t answering our questions honestly?”

You puffing out your chest at me really isn’t all that threatening. You are almost old enough to be my grandfather, with the body to match. What are you going to do to me if I don’t talk? I really don’t have any motivation here. I’m far more concerned about Ishi getting a hold of this recording and punishing me on Nagare’s behalf. He doesn’t have to fuck me to punish me. A mild beating from the man would probably put me in a coma.

“Because.” I let out a long, bored sigh. “I have no reason to.”

“I could charge you with obstruction of justice and throw you in jail.” The tone of the words is sharp--a bold challenge if I’ve ever heard one.

“Prison doesn’t scare me,” I reply, matter of fact.

“It should, boy.”

I force back a snort of laughter. Your attempt at intimidation is laughable at best. Does this tripe work on other people? It seems you and I need to make a few things clear here. “The records in your folder. Some of them are about me, correct?”

Muted eyes regard me suspiciously from across the table. “Of course.”

“Then you know the results of my medical examinations.”

There’s a small pause, followed by a slow, “Yes.”

I don’t reply. Staring back at him, my expression blank, I will him to pick up my meaning. It takes him a few moments, but I finally see the understanding click behind his sullen eyes. Even so, he doesn’t comment on the implication. “We can make this a lot worse for you, you know.” The words are a statement, not a question, as if I am supposed to just throw my hands up and agree. I could retort--snap back at him with a clever comment or two. But there would be no fun in that. It serves no purpose, for pleasure or otherwise, to trigger a man like him.

When he finally realizes I’m not going to respond, he lets out a long breath. “Alright, how about the place you live? Or the place Nagare lives? What do you remember about Nagare’s house or the area? How about the compound you were rescued from?”

I can’t tell you that. Despite this station’s apparent stupidity, you were able to find one facility. If I give you any hints or details, I am willfully giving up other houses, other prisoners, and other staff, some of whom may be big money makers important to my master’s business. “Nothing.”

“Fushimi-san! What exactly do you think your bratty attitude will accomplish? You aren’t helping yourself and you are willfully refusing to help others Nagare has kidnapped. If you help us, do you know how many people we could save from being auctioned off and sold? How many people we could save from being subjected to the same abuse you were?” A flurry of movement catches my eye as his blunt nail taps upon the hard, metal table. “Please, help me understand why you are being so uncooperative. Do you not want to help the people being abused? Do you not want to capture the man who raped you and maimed you for life?"

That last question should lead you right to the answers you seek. "Yes, that’s right. He raped me and maimed me for life. And if, _‘if’_ mind you, I knew any information, what do you suppose is going to happen the next time he gets hold of me? Do you know what it feels like to be burned with acid? Because that was the punishment I received for betraying my master." His eyes seem unable to decide which direction to take: whether to be angry or sympathetic. Here, let me help you with that.

Calmly, I continue, “It is not that I don’t understand your request or sympathize with other potential victims. However, I honestly don’t know some of the information you are requesting. And even if I did, it would serve no benefit to me. I have no reason and no obligation to tell you anything. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to wrap this up. It is a waste of my time and a waste of your resources to continue. Wouldn’t you agree?”


	19. Loop's End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Everyone!
> 
> Soooo, it's been awhile>.< I had originally intended to release this chapter on Halloween, but there were still a couple little touches I wanted to make so here we are...hahaha ;-.-
> 
> The chapter isn't quite as long as I would have liked, but I found a stopping point that I was happy with and decided to not delay it by another few weeks. Despite it not being as lengthy as the previous chapter or two, I hope you still like it regardless.
> 
> Thank you to those who have stuck with the story this far. I know the story and updates move at a snail's pace, so I am happy and grateful that you enjoy it enough to keep on reading <3<3<3 As I say with every chapter, I hope it was worth the wait!

“Tell me, Fushimi-san,” the police chief looks at me, a nasty little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “what if I were to tell you that we could reunite you with your parents?”

Wha--? What in the fuck are you talking about? That doesn’t make any sense. At all. Where are these delusions coming from? I meet his eyes and calmly respond, “What the _hell_ are you talking about? Do you even hear yourself right now? My dad is a pimp who is likely rotting dead in a ditch somewhere, and my mom’s been dead for over a decade.”

His smile broadens, and I resist the urge to gag at the look. What is _wrong_ with you? He pulls out a sheet of paper from his folder and slides it across the table to me. I don’t take the bait. There’s no need. Instead of a verbal reply, I give him a flat stare. I’m not picking up that paper. But thank you for the offer.

“Why don’t you take the paper and have a look, Fushimi-san?” The sneer doesn’t waver. This man full-heartedly believes that he’s caught me out.

“I don’t need to,” I respond. “It’s none of my concern.”

“We got those results just this morning. Would you believe that your DNA hit not one but two familial matches?”

“And?” I’m not surprised. Considering the industry my parents were in, their police records are likely extensive.

“Both of your parents are in the system. And both of them are still alive.”

Oh ha ha. Very funny, you dickless bastard. My reply is a bland sigh. “Mmm, is that right? Please, tell me about them. I’ve always been... _curious_.”

The smile flickers briefly, but his hesitation is fleeting. “Fushimi Niki and Fushimi Kisa. Niki,” he continues, pulling out a photo and another sheet from his folder, “arrested on five separate occasions for facilitating prostitution, although he was only ever charged once, and found not guilty. Smart bastard that one.” He slides the photo across the table. “Go ahead, take a peak.”

A mug shot, I’m guessing. I look down at the photo. Huh. He looks... _familiar_. You know, looking closer at the photo, he and I look bizarrely alike. I suppose he could have been my mother’s boss. Frankly, there is very little I remember about him, and the resemblance between us is too striking to argue. “Would you look at that. You found the man whose sperm brought me into existence. I guess a congratulations are in order?” My gaze shifts back up. “I’ll be blunt here; there is no part of me that desires to meet this man.”

His eyebrow cocks upwards at that. “Really now? And what of your mother?”

“What about her?” I shrug. “Listen, my mom passed away many years ago. I don’t know who you think you found, perhaps an aunt? Grandmother even? But it certainly isn’t my mother.”

That sneering grin of his spreads. You are really not endearing yourself to me right now. You do realize that, don’t you?  “Fushimi-san, whoever it was that you thought was your mother, was not your biological mother. This woman, Fushimi Kisa, her DNA results are a match. And she is alive and well. She’s been married to Niki for 20 years now, although her files indicate that they live separately. ” He pulls out another photo and slides it over. “Why don’t you take a look?”

“No. That woman is not my mother.”

I don’t care what your test results say. My childhood is a blur for the most part. I don’t even remember what my mother’s name was. She was always just, ‘Mommy’. But what I do know is that her name was _not_ Fushimi. Her and my brother never went by that name. I was the only one.

“Look at the photo, Fushimi-san.”

My eyes narrow, my facial muscles tensing in a frown. Now you’re just trying to antagonize me. Do you really not have _anything_ better to do with your time? Reaching out, I grab the edge of the photo and flip it over with one emphatic tap. You think you can get me to play by your rules? You are woefully mistaken. “Even _if_ , ‘ _if’_ mind you, that woman’s DNA is a match to mine, she is _not_ my mother. She didn’t raise me. She couldn’t even bother to feed me and put clothes on my back.”

“What if I were to tell you that it wasn’t her fault?”

I sigh. Of course. “Let me guess. Niki beat her? Or raped her? Or he snatched me right from her bosom and sent me away?”

“In a way, yes. After receiving her parents’ permission, he married her when she was just fifteen. She gave birth to you less than a year later. Did you know that he is ten years her senior?”

Yeah, and? I was being forced to suck cock by the time I was ten years old. My sympathy bar only goes so high. He continues, pulling out another sheet of paper, “From the medical records we have on file, we found that she was officially diagnosed with schizoid personality disorder at the age of 18. Do you know what that is, Fushimi-san? She didn’t have the faculties to care for you. It wasn’t her fault.”

Hmm, ‘schizoid’. I chew on the inside of my cheek. I honestly haven’t heard of that before. I studied psychology briefly a few years back. Did it on my own time of course. All I wanted was to determine why Nagare is such a fucking lunatic. Most of what I researched dealt with narcissism and common forms of psychosis and sociopathy. But everything I researched dealt with well known conditions; schizoid personality disorder certainly wasn’t one of them. Now schizophrenia, on the other hand, was. Could it be a derivative of that? It has the same prefix. Or perhaps it is a more generalized word and schizophrenia is under its umbrella? Well, shit. If I had spent more than one day on the subject, I might actually know the answer to that.

Okay, okay. Sure, I’ll bite. Curiosity is a horrid habit. I really need to work on that. “What is schizoid disorder? I haven’t heard of it.”

"Oh dear me. You don’t know? This must be a first.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes, but I’m not positive if I’ve succeeded. "People with the disorder have a very limited ability to express emotions with others. They avoid social interactions where possible as they have difficulty forming social attachments and lack the desire to do so.”

So she likely never loved me nor had the desire to. Shocking. Absolutely gripping. I won’t deny that fact that this information piques my interest. The problem is, I don't think the interest I have is what you were expecting. I wonder if I have a predisposition to this order. Is it something inherited or developed over time? I am certainly not a kind individual. And I have no desire to make friends. Then again, all of my friends end up dead, so what’s really the point of trying to be social at all?

“I’ll grant you,” I say aloud, “that information is fascinating. It doesn’t change my opinion on anything though.”

The expression on his face wavers when I don’t follow up the comment. Does my lack of sympathy surprise you? Or maybe the fact I could not care less about the people you are calling my parents? You're hilarious. The tiniest of smirks begins to twitch at the corner of my mouth, rapidly spreading, malignant and indurate. There’s an inane chuckle just begging for release, and I am more than happy to allow it a little reprieve. The sound is a harsh one and oh so satisfying. What _exactly_ was it that you were expecting from me, anyways? Are you really that stupid?

“Did you really think that if you waved a few pictures of my biological parents in front of me that I would suddenly become cooperative and the flood gates would just open up? Your pitiable tactics won’t work on me.”

There it is, that disturbed look common to so many. That particular expression on _your_ face, though? Superb. Can I take a photo? It would make a delightful addition to my bedroom wall. It will keep me pleasantly entertained until my new apartment is fully decorated. I don’t know which facility I will be moved to, but rest assured it won’t have any homey touches yet. Only a handful of people knew the location of my last apartment. I cannot fathom it being any different this time. I wonder if the plumbing has been installed yet. It better be.

Leer still in place, I meet my companion’s murderous gaze, unblinking. “Maybe you missed the memo.” I lean forward, placing my elbows on the table so I can link my fingers together. “I don’t like you. I have yet to find a single redeeming quality about you. I would rather go under the whip than divulge any information to you. So we can end this now, or you can keep rattling off random tidbits of fact in the hopes that something you say will tempt me to open my mouth. Personally, I would rather see you rot like the piece of shit that you are.”

Leaning back in my chair, I let out a long sigh. I am done with you. I’ve said all that I need to. And from the look on your unsightly face, you have understood my message _. Finally_. Thank the gods for a small semblance of mercy.

A hacked grunt is his initial reply, followed by, “Munakata, throw him in a holding cell.”

“Sir?" The Captain's voice is stable, but the condemnation in his gaze is hard to miss. “I don’t believe that is the best idea.”

“It’s not your decision to make.”

“Sir--”

“This isn’t a discussion. This is an order.”

You are fucking hilarious. Put me in the pen. I dare you.

Grinning, I comment back, “Throw me in a cell. I promise I’ll behave. In fact, let me do some of your dirty work for you. After I fuck the men you put in my cell, I will beat them into a coma, or simply kill them outright. I think that’s fair. Although, I will expect to be compensated for my time."

“Ha. Sure. You talk big now, but let’s see how long that attitude lasts once you’re actually in there with nowhere to run.”

The Captain's deep voice cuts in once more, “Sir, I must strongly advise against this.”

Seriously, stop trying to reason with the man. I don't believe that's possible.

“Again, Reisi, you don’t get a say. You can either follow my order, or get your ass out of my station.”

When the Captain doesn’t move, my breath seeps out in one long gust. Don’t get all emotional on me now, Captain. You must have anticipated something like this happening. If not, you’re more of a fool than he is. Here, if you can’t bring yourself to do it, I’ll help. I stand up, pushing my chair back under the table. No need to stress yourself out. I’ll go. Just don’t cuff me.

“Let’s go,” I say with a pointed stare. “Come on, Captain. Lead the way.”

He shoots me a quelling look. Hey, don’t get angry at me. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have come back here in the first place. Your boss is the one who’s a prick. My eyebrows crawl upwards as he continues to hesitate. _Really_? Don’t be stubborn.

After a full minute, our unspoken piss-fight comes to an end. With a measured breath, he replies, “Alright, Fushimi-kun, let’s go.”

~

The holding cell has no chairs, no tables, and no windows. Ah, home sweet home--a solid, concrete barren wasteland, with little more than a toilet and a pair of bunkbeds, each adorned with a rock pillow and the thinnest blankets born of man. Worse than what I’m accustomed to, but I’m not going to complain. I go and sit against the far wall, the cool of the concrete seeping through the seat of my pants. Bending a knee, I lift an arm and rest my elbow atop. This is going to be a long endeavor.

My eyelids close, and sleep tickles my brain in less time than it takes me to count to ten. It’s been so long since I’ve slept. At least that’s how it seems. Maybe it’s just my mind playing tricks on me. Either way, sitting on the floor was a poor choice. If I am going to pass out, the cold concrete is the wrong place to do it. Damn it, I just got comfortable. With the little energy I have left, I crawl the couple feet to the lower bunk and climb on, not even bothering with the thin, scratchy fabric posing as something warm. Useless scrap of cloth.

My eyelids slip closed once more as I roll over to face the wall. Oblivion cannot come fast enough.

 

_The pool of red beneath me is so vibrant. My fingertips splay wide, each one vibrating, pulsing, the numbness tickling across my scraped palms. I push my fingers through the thick, crimson tide. So dark. So smooth. The liquid is like a cool bandage against the scraps. Mmm, that’s nice._

_Everything is tinted in white and black, the colors each vying for my attention at the edges of my vision. My gaze wanders, shifting upwards and finding the sky, and yet, also the sea. It’s so beautiful. The two of them together, yet separate, blue, then grey, then green. I cannot tell anymore. His eyes are always changing. At least I know they’re smiling this time. They were so angry before. Thank goodness that look has gone away._

_A scarlet soaked thumb presses against his bottom lip, his tongue flickering out and wiping off one singular line. After swallowing, his lips twist in a smile, the motion causing blood to smear along the edges of his beautiful mouth._

_Nii-chan, you’re so pretty…I could never stay mad at you._

_I forgive you. I’ll always forgive you. Just hold me. Hold me so I can finally go to sleep. I’m so tired, Nii-chan. Tired. Tired. Tired. I’ve never felt so sleepy before._

_If I don’t wake up again, do you think I’ll see Mommy again? Do you think I’ll get to be with Misa-chan again? That’s all I want. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. And then maybe, one day, you can join us too. We’ll all be a family. You, me, Mommy, and Misa-chan. We can be together. Forever._

_A pair of arms reaches down to me. My red soaked hands scramble to grab hold of him as blood slips down my wrists and arms. His grin broadens at my movement. Leaning down towards me, he whispers, “Do not worry, Saruhiko. I’ve got you. I will never let you go.”_

_Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I love you, Nii-chan._

 

“Hey! Oi! Are you going to get up or what?”

My eyes flutter open. Why. Why are you so. Fucking. Loud. I twist, my glasses askew, and glance over my shoulder at the stocky, broad shouldered dickhead standing nearby. What are you in here for? You look like you’ve spent the last six months blown out of your mind. Crackhead no doubt. Ugh. I twist back and lay down, closing my eyes again. I’m going back to sleep.

“Don’t turn your back on me, you dumb cunt! They were supposed to drop off lunch an hour ago. But they said they won’t unless you’re awake, so get your ass up. I’ve been in here nearly 3 hours and you’ve barely stirred once. I’m fucking hungry man. I haven’t had a cigarette or a hit in 6 hours. If I don’t eat, I’m going to fuck you up and throw your damn ass out to the guards!”

Dear Christ, stop with the whinging. You sound like a damned two year old. “Going without a meal or two would do you some good, wouldn’t you agree? You could stand to lose more than a few pounds.” I say the words with no inflection, and without the least bit of sarcasm, but alas that goes unnoticed. Pity.

“What did you say to me?!”

I hear his stumbling footsteps coming towards the bed, his hacking breath puffing out in staccato. My whole body tenses, the movement an unintentional, but necessary reaction. I hear the swish of air before I feel it. Reacting on instinct, I flatten myself against the wall as a foot descends down into the mattress. Fucking hell!

Let me get this straight. These fuckers arrested a druggie, forced him to go cold turkey--which is never good for anyone--and then threw him in here to see what would happen. This is not going to end well. He’s just going to get more irate and irrational, before eventually getting sick and throwing up all over our tiny little cell. That is, of course, if the shock of going cold turkey doesn’t kill him outright. The only way to help alleviate this situation is if I can distract him and tame that temper of his.

 _Fine_. Challenge accepted you fucking pricks. A persnickety asshole isn’t all that I am. Did you forget? I embraced my status of 'whore' a long time ago.

Rolling back over, I do the one thing I know will immediately grab his attention--I grasp hold of his leg, stunning him into stillness. “Alright, I get it. I’ll get up,” I say calmly, placating.

Despite your weight, you’re not half as terrifying as Nagare or Yukari from this angle. You don’t have the presence of a killer. I bet a few delicately placed words and touches will soothe you, at least temporarily.

“W-wh--? A-alright,” he stutters.

“Well,” I whisper, running my fingertips across his calf, the movement innocuous enough not to frighten him away. “Will you move your leg, please? I can’t very well get up with you standing there.”

He shakes his head twice, eyebrows knitting together in a frown. “Fine,” he mutters, pulling away and sliding his foot back down to the floor.

I sit up, dropping one leg over the side of the bed but raising the other so I can place my foot on the mattress. This will give me at least some leverage should I have to fight you. For whatever reason you aren’t moving, despite the fact that there is no room for me to stand. You don’t have to continue to just stand there. You _can_ step away. Just saying.

He clears his throat and asks, “What are you in here for? You don’t look like a drug peddler.”

“Drug peddler, huh? Heh. Is that what they told you?” A smirk tugs at my mouth as I look up at the man.

He blinks and finally steps back, looking pathetically confused, practically disoriented. Brain working too slow to keep up with my change in attitude?

“No,” he mutters. “Well, sorta.”

“‘Sorta’, hm? Interesting.”

The man shakes his head again, seeming to gather himself. “So if not that, then what?”

I smile wide and his whole body twitches. Heh. Is the wild, mussed hair look a turn on for you too? Or do I simply disconcert you? Ah well, no reason why I can’t use that to my advantage. I can work with either of those emotions. “Can you keep a secret?” I whisper.

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

“Prostitution."

“W-what? I don’t understand.”

“I’m a whore. I got picked up for prostitution. I fuck men for food, clothes, and a roof over my head. Not exactly the most admirable existence, but it works for me.”

You look...confused? I don’t quite understand your expression. The man takes a few steps back, but I stay where I am, poised. He coughs. “O-okay. Ahem, okay, well then.” He walks the small distance back to the bars of the cell. “Hey! Can we get some food in here?! I’m fucking starving.”

I watch him closely as he stands there, continuing to call out. He is reacting differently than I was anticipating, however, given the circumstances, confusion and hesitancy is far preferable to anger and violence. After a few more minutes he sighs, giving up and meandering back over towards me. His foot gently swings out, bumping my toes.

Umm...What _exactly_ do you think you are doing?

When I don’t react, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Do you mind moving over? There’s nowhere else to sit.”

“Except the top bunk,” I reply. “You just tried to stomp on me. If you were me, wouldn’t you be hesitant?”

A flash of irritation muddled with surprise--I don’t know which of the two emotions to take at face value. “Well, duh. You were being a fucking cunt. And why do you get the bottom bunk anyways? I’m bigger.”

“I said what I did because you were being an asshole. And I get the bottom bunk because I was here first.”

The down-turned lips deepen into full face wrinkles. The look is oddly suited to that sallow, unwashed face. He snarls, "You think I give a fuck? You kept me waiting for fucking hours!”

He's getting riled up again. I need to stop trying to reason with this damn ingrate. “Okay, okay,” I respond, trying out another smile.

“Stop doing that!”

“Stop doing what?” This is getting dangerous. I underestimated his perceptibility. I honestly didn’t think he’d catch on to what I was doing. There I go again getting arrogant. Stop biting yourself in the ass and salvage this, Saruhiko. If you can, that is.

“Y-you know exactly what I’m talking about! Knock it off!”

A rattle from the entrance pauses our argument. At least for now. There’s a clank of bars as a small opening appears and two paper trays slide into our cell. I look down at the mush slathered on the plate and resist the urge to gag. The man sharing my cell picks up the plates and brings them to the bed. He proffers one towards me halfheartedly. I can’t hold back my instantaneous reaction--my nose crinkles, and my lip curls. No thank you. I’d rather starve than put that glob of shit in my mouth.

“Fine, don’t eat,” he snaps. “Just more for me.” He dumps the goop from the second tray onto the first and stands there looking down at me.

With a sigh, I slide over, clinging to the corner of the bed and keeping as far away from him as conceivably possible without actually standing up. I get the impression that he would consider my walking away a direct insult. Avoiding that reaction is greatly preferred.

“So,” he says as a chunk of...potatoes, maybe?...dribbles out of the corner of his mouth. Obnoxious, loud, unpredictable, and noisome. What intolerable trait _doesn’t_ he have? He continues, “You were picked up for prostitution? Why are you still here? Do they really keep people locked up for shit like that? Shouldn’t they have just given you a citation and a court date and sent you home?”

I can’t get my mouth closed fast enough. “This isn’t the first time you’ve been arrested, is it?”

His lips tighten in a frown. “No, obviously not. What’s it to you, fairy?”

Was that necessary? There’s no need to be defensive about every tiny comment I make. I voice my thoughts aloud, “I didn’t mean anything by it. I don’t get why the name calling was necessary.”

“Just shut up, will you?!”

What the hell is it with the yelling? I didn’t do anything. I wasn’t even being snarky that time. I know I shouldn’t respond to this. He doesn’t need anymore provocation. Nevertheless, sometimes the satisfaction of having the last word is too good a feeling to ignore. Besides, if anyone deserves to be curtailed, he does. "Yeah, sure. Fuck you too, asshole.”

Food splatters across the floor and the walls, smearing and dripping in thick globs. “Fine then! Maybe I will, you damned cunt!”

Jesus fucking Christ! I leap forward, trying and failing to move before he can reach me. He manages to snag the sleeve of my shirt, causing us both to fall forward and sprawl across the hard concrete. Shit that hurts! Are all addicts this damn mercurial?! Decide on one emotion for more than a few seconds, would you?!

I recover quicker than he does, rolling up into a crouch and out of his immediate reach. “I don’t want to fight you,” I say through a stuttered breath.

The man on the floor looks up at me, eyes bloodshot and unfocused. He may have sounded composed during our conversation, but he is clearly anything but. Is he even fully cognizant of our conversation thus far, or is he merely reacting to trigger words like a mindless animal? Getting a full look at his face and seeing his eyes, I am inclined to start believing the latter. Unless of course the fall hurt him more than it hurt me. I guess that’s always a possibility too.

“Are you done now?” I continue. “Maybe you should lay down and rest?”

Please say ‘yes’. I would love to not have to deal with you anymore. He shakes his head in an apparent attempt to clear his thoughts, what little there are anyways. He mutters, “Whatever,” before sitting up. Rubbing his head, he stumbles his way up and over to the bed so he can sit down. He groans, dropping his face into his hands. “Shit. I needed that. And now it’s all gone to waste. Stupid bastard.”

That is a nice sentiment, but that comment should be directed at yourself and not me. Regardless, I am reaching the tip of my patience levels. I would love nothing more than to instigate this fucker to the brink and then throw his half beaten body at the police chief's feet. But I just don’t have enough energy or motivation to do so. And if I’m honest with myself, I have doubts I should be around you at all. What would happen if the two of us were to get into an actual fight. No part of me wants to contemplate that particular outcome.

Well, if you're going to blow up every time we talk and you refuse to stray from the bed, then I guess there is only one solution for now--take the top bunk and go back to sleep. Standing from my squat, I head back to the bunkbeds and grab hold of its ladder. It is harder to attack from the ground up than from the top down. There is also an added bonus of ending any arguments about who gets the bottom bunk. Once I reach the top, I flop down onto my side.

A soft mumble floats up from below, “What’re you doing? Didn't you say  _you_ had dibs on the bottom bunk?”

“I did. But I’m too tired to care anymore. I just want to go back to sleep. You can have the bottom bunk, just leave me alone, will you?”

“Fine, asshole. Better for me anyways.”

Ugh. I cannot get out of here quick enough. I turn towards the wall and wrap my arms around my waist. This initial meeting didn’t go nearly as bad as I had anticipated. Nevertheless, it was beyond exhausting. Too much arguing. Too many emotions to juggle and handle. Dealing with people is too tiring. I just want to be alone. And the only way to achieve that is to go to sleep. Block him out, Saruhiko. Just close your eyes and embrace the quiet emptiness of the dark. My eyes slip closed and the blessed black crawls through me. His mild mutterings and occasional movements slowly start to fade away and disappear. Oh beloved sleep. You are all I’ll ever need.

 

_“Don’t be making a fuss now. We aren’t finished yet, my beautiful flower.” Long, gentle fingertips slide through my hair, firmly tugging the strands as an irrefutable reminder that I am utterly powerless. “Come now, love. A little more.”_

_My breath hitches, my legs sliding outwards, unintentional, baring myself further as my ass opens wide. “Yukari,” I whisper. Just finish it._

_“Mmm?” A warm trickle of air moves along my back as his second hand slithers over my side and down to my hand. My cheek rubs hard along the scratchy rug beneath my face as he pulls my arm backwards, allowing each and every fiber of carpet to caress my face. Damn it, this is uncomfortable._

_Pulling at my wrist, he stretches my arm as far as it will go before wrapping a smooth leather cuff around my wrist. The small lock clicks closed before he grabs my ankle and attaches another leather cuff. With that final cuff, all four of my appendages are secured. Face to the carpet, hands to ankles, and ass raised into the air in exemplary fashion. How_ fucking humiliating _. Hope my asshole and hard cock is enjoyable to look at you sick, fucking creeps._

_A long hiss escapes from between my lips. Don’t touch me there! Shit!_

_Spindly fingers, covered in a thin layer of lube, have returned to their prior ministrations; sliding down along my crack, they only touch my hole briefly before moving lower. A single finger rubs along the soft, delicate skin of my testi, moving one harrowing millimeter at a time. My body twitches, the soft leather rubbing against my skin as I attempt to hold myself still. When his full hand splays open to cup me, all I can do is snarl and bite my lip to contain the moan. My legs frustratingly slip apart of their own volition yet again, the damned limbs stretching nearly to the point of pain to try and press firmer into his hand._

_As I continue to slip, his hands move, sliding up and firmly grasping onto my thighs to pull me back into position. “Now, now, no need to show such haste,” he murmurs. “We have all the time in the world. We’re creating art.”_

_I can barely move you pretentious bastard! This isn’t art!_

_Two lubed fingers enter me then, twisting, meticulously rubbing every place he can reach. Each action of his has a purpose. The speed, the pressure, even the way he is curling just one finger is done with acute intent. Argh! My lips snap closed on an unwanted cry. Why do you have to turn them like that? Why can’t you just shove your dick in and get it over with?! I’m stretched out enough. God fucking damn it!_

_A fresh rush of air runs along my earlobe. “Open your mouth Saru-chan,” he whispers. “I want to watch your body bloom beneath me.”_

_“Fuc-” He cuts me off with a firm press of his fingers. My whole body shudders, my open mouth giving him the exact sound he was looking for. You’re such an asshole! I don’t want to do it like this. It’s too open, too exposed. Why do you always insist on making me do our videos like this? You want them to see every reaction, every moment of weakness. You want to see me debased and humiliated. I hate it._ I fucking hate it _._

_The fingers pull out momentarily, only to be replaced by four. I pant, hard, jerking forward. “That’s it, love,” he says, “open up for me.” His warm lips start to press into the scars on my back, nosing along my spine. “So beautiful.”_

_I let my eyes slip closed. You mean they’re lurid. As I have told you before,_ that _is_ _the appropriate word. They are my reminder of why I must endure you. Why I must endure Nagare and all of yours’ affections. Interminably. Death would be preferable, better yet, merciful._

_A harsh scraping noise draws my attention. Of the little I see from my position, I can spot the corner of a large mirror being dragged into view. Yukari’s lips continue to drag against my skin, grinning. “Saru-chan,” he says, “I had this brought in just for you. You always want to close your eyes. This time you will get to enjoy the same vision as I do. You will get to see our masterpiece come to life.”_

_The blood drains from my face, my ears ringing. Wh-what did you just say? You want me to_ watch _myself get fucked? Oh no, absolutely not! Doing it with you is hard enough already--watching that frightful smile as you coax my body to grovel for release, groaning in whatever way pleases you. It’s disgusting._ I _am disgusting._

_His fingers shove into me again, accompanied by a long lick up my back._

_Don’t do it, Saruhiko. Don’t cave in. My lips part anyways, huffing, blatantly ignoring my inner plea. The fingers plunge in once more, rotating and pressing down. Don’t Saruhiko! Keep your mouth shut!_

_"If you’re going to fuck me,” I pant, “at least do it right.”_

_God damn it!_

_Yukari laughs, his voice like a song banging around inside of my head."You are so lovely," he whispers. "Don’t you worry now. Patience. I will give you the world.”_

 

“BLEGH!”

What the hell?! I sit up and grasp hold of my chest. W-what is it? Where am I? Yukari? Where are you?

I hear a groaned, “Shit,” from down below. I look down to the rest of the room and see a man hunched over a toilet. The spit sticks in my throat and I have to swallow to get rid of the foul taste. That isn’t Yukari. That’s the druggie who got thrown into a cell with me. That's right. I'm in jail.

The man pukes again, the sound continuing for quite some time. Geez. You are the perfect picture of health, aren’t you? I move to the end of the bed and grab hold of the ladder rungs. Once down, I head over to the bars of the cell. “Hey! Can anyone hear me? This guy in here needs medical attention! Hey! Can anybody hear me?”

For Christ’s sake. Are there literally no cops around? This _is_ a jail, right?

I hear the sounds of vomiting again. Ugh. How long am I going to have to listen to this. Poor guy--he’s probably already dehydrated. Sooner or later, he’s going to need some sort of medical assistance. I am not a doctor nor a babysitter. I’m not going to sit around and care for him all day because they’re too lazy or simply don’t give a shit--that’s not my responsibility.

“Come on! I know you assholes can hear me!”

“Fushimi-san! So nice to see you up and moving. Did you sleep well?” The man steps into view, his face one large nauseating grin. “What’s with the frown? Do I have something on my face?” He chuckles, pulling out the keys to my cell and opening it wide. “Let’s go. Your presence has been requested.”

“Piss off, you cocksucking shithole.”

Lips smiling. Eyes seething. The look is enough to give me pause. “Alright,” I snap. “Let’s go--what is it they call you now? Miwa or some other tripe?”

“Sure, Fushimi-san. Miwa. You may call me that. After all, what else _would_ they call me?” The words run like acidic honey down my skin, both entangling and lethal.

I narrow my eyes. “Nothing, of course. Nothing at all. Now please,” I say through increasingly gritted teeth, “lead the way.” I stay where I am until the dark smile fades, revealing the apathetic look beneath.

“Follow me. I am assuming I don’t need to cuff you. Although I will if necessary.”

I hold back a shiver at the coldness in his voice. I understand, Ishi. If I do something to annoy you, you will simply wait until we are out of camera shot to throw a few well placed punches to my gut. Bruises, after all, don’t really matter in you can’t see them. Isn’t that right?

Despite the danger of communicating with this giant wall of muscle, the matter of the dying druggie still needs to be addressed. "What about this ugly fucker puking his guts out? He’s going to pass out if this continues.”

Cheek twitching, hand tapping impatiently. “I will ask someone to come take a look at him. Now, until drop off, there will be no more commentary.”

I sigh, attempting nonchalance and feeling anything but. “Whatever you say.”

“Good.” He pulls a walkie-talkie off his jeans and brings it up to his face. “Hey, it’s Miwa. I’m down in the coop and some kid is puking in his cell. Can you come grab him and take him to the doc?”

The radio crackles, and a voice replies, “Sure, no problem. I’ll be down in a second.”

“Thanks. I’ll leave the keys with Akihiro.”

“Got it.”

He clips the radio back on his belt and stands off to the side. Once I'm out of the cell, he closes and locks the bars behind me. As we exit the short row of cells, he tosses the keys to a man at a desk, the two of them nodding at each other in acknowledgment. We exit into a quiet hallway where he opens his mouth once more. “No matter what that imbecile tells you, you are returning to the dump today. It's the court’s orders. Make sure when you return that you have pulled yourself together. Do you understand?”

My stomach drops. _Tonight_ ? I knew this wouldn’t last long, but I didn’t realize it’d be so soon. How long have I spent sleeping, whittling away the little bit of time I have left? Now now, Saruhiko. This is how it’s supposed to be. Once you return, Misa-chan will be safe. His safety is the  _only_ thing that matters. The longer you stay with him, the higher the risk. He could be hurt or even killed if he steps into your master's line of vision. You know this.

I swallow thickly, pushing down the unknown emotion clawing at the back of my throat. After a minute, I finally respond, “Yes, impeccably.”

“Good.”

We don’t speak another word. He stops in front of a door and opens it, stepping inside ahead of me. The room has one fat old man, one stony faced asshole, and one dickhole with his back turned to me. And I, the impetuous cocksucker, round out this four man circle of unsavory men. Brilliant. 

Ishi comments with a bright tone, “Chief, I’ve brought Fushimi-san. Do you need anything else?”

“No,” he replies, smiling in return. “That’ll be all.”

He waits for the door to click shut before looking at me again. “Fushimi-san, so nice of you to grace us with your presence. Your stay wasn’t as long as I was anticipating, but ah well. I’m sure it was pleasant, regardless.”

There really isn’t anything for you to be snarky about right now. Yes, there were a couple of troubling instances, but nothing as horrific as you were hoping. Aloud, I reply, “Of course. Although you should be more concerned about the poor bastard you threw in there with me. He currently has his head halfway down a toilet bowl.”

There is a near imperceptible twitch at the corner of his eye. Unlike our previous meeting, he doesn’t show any further reaction. Learning to control yourself better? Give praise to the gods. I turn my head and examine the rest of the room. The Captain is again leaning against the wall, almost as if he's been stuck in that position since our last meeting. When I meet his eyes, he nods jerkily and says, “Fushimi-kun. I am glad to see you’re doing well."

No need to look so distraught, Captain. I’m okay, I assure you.

Next to the table, there is an addition to the room--granted, of course, this is the same room. A T.V. and VCR combo are sitting on a rolling cart. The screen is blue, the T.V. on but the tape stopped. So let me guess, you found an interesting clip or two? Or--I doubt, but can’t rule out--have you actually gotten your shit together and traced one of Nagare's websites?

“Well, let’s not beat around the bush. Fushimi-san, why don’t you have a seat? There is a video I’d like you to watch."

Marvelous. However, wouldn’t you agree that your current facial expression is aberrant? And that is putting it nicely. Try to reign in the excitement, won’t you? Fucking pig.

“Of course, Chief. Let’s get to it.”

I walk the rest of the way into the room and throw myself down in the chair at the table. For all my fronting, I really am curious--or maybe worried--about what is on that tape. Best not to think too deeply on it.

Once I’m seated, he grabs hold of the remote sitting on the table and turns it on with no hesitation. The video crackles to life, the image surprisingly vivid and clear despite the old technology. The picture on the screen is a familiar one. I know that room. I know that table and I know that wooden cross. More importantly, I know the woman hanging from it. Head drooping, arms stretched and thick nails pounded into the wrists--the woman could easily be mistaken for a lifelike marionette.

I didn’t know her for any longer than a couple days. I don’t remember what we talked about, or what her name was. But then, I rarely do. I do, however, remember her bright blue eyes and joyful face, It was the face of a woman in clueless denial. She was one of those girls who honestly thought, right up until the bitter end, that she was there for a simple porno shoot. Nothing more. Nothing less. Those people are the ones who scream the loudest, I’ve found; and the ones with the worst pain tolerance. Then again, that type of pain is beyond consolation.

A soft groan drifts from speakers of the T.V. “ _Awake now_?”

The response is an unpleasant, gravelly sound. It barely sounds human.

The man steps into the camera’s view. A mask of green and gold lights his upper face, a single splatter of blood dotting the bridge of it. I know the mask, but not the man. Well, not really. The schedule he’s on doesn’t often coincide with my filming schedule. This style of filming is different and requires a special set of rooms.

The man moves up to the table, grabbing hold of a wooden handle, a heavy metal head at the opposing end. The woman doesn’t raise her head, in fact, she barely stirs as he takes hold of her palm and presses it open, exposing the curled digits. “ _Time to wake up_.”

The hammer swings down.

I do not close my eyes. My body jerks, wanting to stand. Stay. Still. You will _not_ stand, Saruhiko. You will _not_ look away. Neither her pain nor her screams are worse than any others’. I have absolutely no right to be upset. Isn’t that right, Nagare?

I fill my lungs with one deep breath, and let it back out as slowly as possible. The ringing screams fade, if only a little, that gracious deafening white noise buzzing in my ear. There is nothing. No feeling. No compassion. Just emptiness. That's all I  _can_ feel.

My eyes stay fixated while I open my mouth, words forming. Remember now--you are not allowed to look away. Just speak. “Chief,” I start, the word dull, bored, or more appropriately, lifeless. “How long is this tape? I don’t particularly care to further indulge your proclivities. There is very little to be gained from this viewing, so may I please return to my cell?”

“You don’t want to watch the rest? Perhaps this could help resurface some of those fuzzy memories you seem to be having."

“I don’t need to watch the rest to know what happens. This is new territory for you, I understand that. But it’s not for me. I am sure it has been explained to you already, but I have no ties to any of these people; therefore, me watching the footage is a waste of time for all parties involved. However, if you are determined to wait this out, I will finish watching. If only as a sign of respect to the woman whose death you are exploiting to further your case.”

“Chief,” the Captain finally chimes in--you know, you could have stepped in earlier-- “as we discussed prior to this meeting, I do not believe this is the appropriate approach. Fushimi-kun has the right to deny exposure to content that can exacerbate his PTSD symptoms.”

“Munakata! Hold your tongue!”

“Sir--”

“If you cannot control yourself, then get out!”

Not that I care, but should you two be having this argument when I am sitting not two feet away? I believe this confrontation would be defined as ‘unprofessional’.

“Sir, I believe your own lack of control is the problem here.”

Wait, _what_? Did you just say what I think you did? It is not merely the words, but the supercilious tone that captures my attention and draws my eyes away from the screen. What the hell are you doing?


	20. And Then the Lights Go Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! It has been a while, hasn't it? Like literally months, as per usual.
> 
> My goal was to complete and upload this chapter by my birthday. I missed it just by a hair, but I was closeT.T
> 
> This chapter comes to a natural close, as it is the end of the first of two arcs. The second arc will, in theory, be significantly shorter (I vehemently pray so, lol).
> 
> An intermission chapter is currently in the works and will be released before the second arc begins. The intermission chapter will be from Misaki's POV. So please be on the look out for that in a few month's time!
> 
> Thank you all for your continued support and for sticking by me and Saruhiko throughout this long and strenuous journey! I can't thank you enough! Here's crossing my fingers that you all enjoy this latest installment :)

The Chief turns his gaze to the Captain, his eyebrows lifted, eyes wide and manic. “Reisi,” he whispers, “by what right do you believe you have the authority here? By being made captain of this unit, do you believe that you get to make whichever cavalier decisions you wish? You act as though my job is already yours. How presumptuous of you.” He smiles then, his lip curling in such a way that the expression is little more than an antagonistic declaration of war, the animosity oozing outwards.

In a twist I am not expecting, the Captain smirks. What exactly are you planning, you crafty bastard? Or are you doing this for mere sport? "Acting? I am not acting, Sir. I was chosen to maintain order in this investigation.”

“That is absurd. I can dismiss you whenever I please.”

“Perhaps before. But the courts have deemed your techniques in this case unsuitable. Let me assure you, my comments are all in line with the court’s desires. Your frustrations are affecting your judgement, and that is no way conducive to creating a personal relationship with Fushimi-kun.”

“And your impertinence here in front of him, is not conducive to creating any level of respect between he and I either.”

Tch. Oh please. You really think there’s a modicum of a chance for you and I to develop any level of respect? I sigh. “Oh Chief, you never had my respect to begin with. You should listen to the Captain. He clearly has a better understanding of my position than you do.”

“Now, now, Fushimi-kun,” the Captain cuts in, his voice steady. "Let’s not instigate any unnecessary fighting.”

_ Uh, what _ ? Are you trying to shift the blame onto me? Is the chief really that stup--wait, no. That in and of itself is a stupid question. “ _Of course_ , Captain. Sorry.”

Despite my blatant contempt, the Captain continues to look at me with the same vibrant smirk. "Thank you for the apology Fushimi-kun. It is most welcome.” Your tone gives me the distinct impression that your words are inflammatory. You are poking fun at my earlier behavior somehow...I'm just not sure specifically which situation you're referencing.

“Now,” he continues, “I really would request your cooperation with this investigation, Chief. Provided you trust in my judgement, your presence in this investigation would be beneficial.”

“Your words imply I must concede.”

“If you wish to put it that way, yes.”

Narrowed eyes continue to follow the Captain, lips pressed in a thin line. “Mmm. Well, although I admire your...let’s call it  _ ‘confidence’ _ ...we are back to where we started--Fushimi-san being uncooperative and unwilling to share any information with us. How exactly would you suggest we approach the situation, seeing as you are determined for him to have no accountability or repercussions for his behavior? He is in contempt of court, nevertheless, you continue to coddle and mollify his every whim.”

His eyes finally pull back in my direction, the look accusatory. Hey now. Don’t get pissy with me because  _ you _ got yourself into trouble with the judge. That is all on you. “Enlighten me, Fushimi-san. You are Nagare’s prize whore. He has done unspeakable horrors to you and we are here giving you an absolute surefire way to make him pay for the things he has done. I don’t understand why you are letting him get away with it. You protecting him will not help assuage the suffering you have gone through."

_ Imbecile _ . Have I not already answered this question, or at the very least some form of it already? It is confirmed. You were definitely dropped on your head as a child. Probably multiple times. “Tch. For your benefit, I will assume you say that in jest. Again, I am not protecting Nagare. I am protecting myself. My unwillingness to talk is in no way reflective of my loyalty to him.”

Do not imagine for one second that I will shy away from you. Meeting his ever darkening expression, I reply in kind with the blankest, most enervated stare I can muster. “Despite what you may believe, I am not doing this to spite you. Do I dislike you? Of course. Greatly, in fact.”

“You pissant!”

“Regardless,” I press on, “this isn’t some game. I grew up with Nagare. And I will tell you again, and again and again if I have to, that I trust in his ability to evade you far more that I trust in your ability to catch him. It is as simple as that. He’s my master, and you are a mere pawn. So I would appreciate it if you would stop asking me to gamble with my life."

“Fushimi-kun,” the Captain starts, “it has never been our objective to risk your life.” Oh, I would  _ vehemently _ beg to disagree. “I know that you are scared; it is only natural. But you said it yourself, he’s your master, and we mere pawns. If we’re by that logic, then you and your knowledge are the only things capable of bringing Nagare to justice. There is no one better suited. Would you not agree?”

Ha, funny little trick you are trying to play there. But hey, you know what? I’ll be gone tonight anyways, so what is the point of arguing with you any further? Let's wrap this up now, before we waste anymore of everyone's time. “Mmm, okay, sure. I’ll talk…when I feel like it, which I currently do not. I am tired. I want to rest. Can we please resume this at another time?”

The chief barks out a laugh. “I am not inclined to honor your request.”

“Now, now,” the Captain calmly murmurs, “Fushimi-kun has a point. We’ve kept him here long enough. If he wishes to get some rest first before discussing this further, then we should let him.”

“Now hold on here!”

“Let’s get Kusanagi in here so he can take you home, Fushimi-kun.”

The chief sputters, opening his mouth to contest. My dear sir, you have already lost this debate. Valiant effort though. The Captain is just simply more calculating than you are.

~  

When we enter the HOMRA abode, the temperature dips, the air cold and unwelcoming as though already preparing to bid me farewell. The thought is preposterous of course. The house isn’t animate. It can’t feel what I do. Now stop projecting your feelings about, Saruhiko. It is unhelpful.

”Fushimi-san.”

I look back at Kusanagi. “Yeah?”

Huh? What is it? Why are you smiling?

“I’m proud of you.”

_ Proud _ ? My brain finishes processing the word. Are you sure that's the word you were looking for? What in the hell have I done to warrant pride? I lick my lips and ask aloud, “ _ Why _ ?”

“You did really well while at the station. You didn’t try to instigate any serious fights and kept a level head during today's interrogation. That’s something worthy of notice.” The smile stays in place as he walks towards me. He lifts a hand and clasps my shoulder, giving it one solitary squeeze. “Good job.”

I watch his fading back, spittle thick in my throat. No one has  _ ever  _ been genuinely proud of me, at least not without ridicule. I rub at my collarbone, hoping somehow that it will calm my heart which has begun to bang against my chest bone. I wish it would knock it off. The feeling is incredibly uncomfortable.

“Come on now. It’s getting late. I need to gather everything for the first shift and get going before the boys get mobbed by the dinner crowd. Why don’t you help me get everything packaged up and then you can go on upstairs and get some rest? Misaki is upstairs. The idiot is probably up there passed out on the floor.” He stops and chuckles. “He’s been up all day waiting for you. I’m half surprised he’s not down here right now fussing over you. He’s the definition of ‘mother hen’ if I’ve ever seen one."

I choke. I want to hold in the chuckle, but can't. You are probably dead on with that guess--no denying that. If he’s not down here then he’s likely asleep, drool and all dripping off of his chin. Kusanagi stares at me for a moment with a thinly veiled look of surprise. After a moment, the look slips away and is quickly replaced by another smile. What is up with you? 

“What?” I finally ask aloud.

“I’m not sure if I’ve ever heard you genuinely laugh before,” he muses. “Well, perhaps once…”

Oh shut up. Yes you have. Just maybe not a happy one…

"Anyways," he continues. “Come on. Let’s get started.”

I follow him to the kitchen and stand off to the side, watching him to go in and out of the pantry carrying several large bags in one hand and one hefty cooler in the other. Handing me the cooler, the blond man heads over to the counter where several pans and trays of desserts and snacks are laid out. “In the cooler,” he starts, “there are several stands you can remove. Place in the desserts one at a time, separating each layer with a divider. If you’re smart about it, all of them should fit.”

I don’t bother replying with words, instead, I begin packing up the cooler while continuing to regard him out of the corner of my eye. He pulls out several random food items from the fridge and packs them into the bags. After a moment, he says, “Fushimi-san?”

“Yeah?”

“Have you ever made tiramisu before?”

Have I ever made what? Tiramisu? Oh wait, that coffee cake thing with layers of custard cream and such? “No, I haven’t made it before, but I’ve read the recipe once or twice. Why?"

“We’ve been getting a lot of requests for it, so I’m making some tomorrow for the Saturday crowd. Unless something changes, you won’t be back to the police station for a while. Since you’ll be here, I would like you to help me.”

Tomorrow? If what Ishi said is to be believed--which I do--then I won’t be here come the morning. I open my lips, which have dried, leaving a thick, sticky mucus in the back of my mouth. The false words cling there, desperate and unsure. Why is this so hard? A simple affirmation is such a trifle. Why then, does it take me three times to simply utter the words, “Sure, okay”?

“Good.” He pauses and then continues, “I know it’s tough being confined day in and day out. I don’t want you sitting around twiddling your thumbs all day and going stir crazy. Since you can’t go to school and you can’t work at the pub, I want you to continue helping me at home with the daily dessert preparations.” His rich, blue eyes shift in my direction. “I’d like a confirmation please.”

Tch. “Okay, yeah. Why not?”

“Thank you.” When he finishes packing up the final bag he stops and turns to look at me. “Alright, well that’s it. That’s all I needed. Go on up and get some rest. I will come grab you from your room tomorrow if you’re still asleep.”

Pfft, do you really think you could drag me out of bed if I don’t want to? Out loud, I reply, “Alright.”

As I turn to walk away, I feel the most insignificant of twinges in the deepest, farthest corner of my mind. I could lie to myself and pretend I don’t understand what that twinge is. I could, but I won’t. The feeling is one of disappointment--disappointment in the knowledge that I would actually enjoy spending my days baking with him and knowing that I cannot. I  _ hate _ it. I positively  _ hate _ this feeling. It is a rare day that I have to deal with disappointment--it is difficult to be disappointed when you have nothing to look forward to.

Stop with the whining, Saruhiko. What is the point of feeling or even thinking about all of this now? There is so little time left. Why waste it on trivial emotions like these? No matter what you feel or how you handle it, the end result is all the same.

I make my way back to the staircase and climb up to the top floor, heading into my bedroom once I reach the top. My bag and medications are still strewn across the floor in a haphazard mess. I’m actually glad that no one bothered to clean this place up. I’ll get to keep my medications, including the painkillers. What’s not to love?

I grab the duffel bag with mindless intent, throwing in the medications, my glasses case, one pair of pajamas and two days worth of clothing. That should be enough. If Nagare hasn’t restocked my wardrobe I’m going to be pissed as fuck. Don’t drag me back there until you have everything put together. Otherwise, my return is a pointless, premature endeavor. I  glance around one last time and find that the bowler hat is nowhere to be found. Thank the gods they took away that ridiculous thing.

Once everything is packed, I place the duffel on the bed. Alright, I’m ready to get out of here...well, except for one thing. Heading back out of my room, I grab the door handle of Misaki’s door and slowly push it open. My whole body freezes when I see him on the bed. He looks so peaceful lying there--lightly snoring, the anticipated drop of drool dripping down his cheek, curled up like a cat trying to keep itself warm. I wish I could look at this every day. I wonder what you dream about. You look so relaxed. Maybe I’m a simpleton for wishing this, but I hope I’m in them. Then at least one of us will remember.

My feet finally decide to move, taking me across the floor and to his bedside. Should I even wake him? I know I’m doing the right thing by leaving. The decision is final. But I can’t push away the little voice in my head that keeps growing louder and louder, in one final ostentatious plea not to forget, not to give him away, not to abandon him. Will waking him soothe that pained voice? Will it fulfill this unusual desire to find some sort of validation that I’m doing the right thing? Or will it simply bring me more grief?

Too many questions. Too little time.

For now, all I can do is take this last chance, this final opportunity to ingrain every little detail that I can into my memories, few though they may be. I suppose the answers to all my questions will reveal themselves in time.

“Mmm? Saruhiko? Is that you?” Rubbing at his eyes, Misaki sits up and continues, “There you are. Thank God.” His eyes finally come into focus and a grin brightens his face. My breath hitches and my chest warms. There it is again, that look. I cannot help myself from smiling in return.

“Oi, you old hag. I heard you were nagging the staff while I was away.” I smirk then, watching the blush spread along his cheekbones.

“Shut up,” he mutters. “I was worried, alright? Well, not just that, I was pissed as hell. What the fuck was that asshole thinking, throwing you into jail? I was about ready to storm the building and fuck the bastard up.”

Heh. Standing up for the little man as always I see. “Well, I’m glad you were able to dig deep and find some modicum of restraint. Then you wouldn’t have been able to wait here for me. You are such a kind mother.  _ Thank you _ .”

“Shut up, you! You have no idea what went through my head when they told me you were being tossed in a cell! Asshole…”

The boy sitting on the bed bristles from head to toe, the heat in his voice pulsing off of him. Now, now, don’t go getting yourself all worked up again. I love the anger on my behalf, really I do, but I want to spend these last few moments actually enjoying each other’s company. Grinning, I head over to the bed and throw myself down next to his sitting form.

“Do you remember,” I say, “when we were kids, we would stay up late under the blankets with flashlights? You’d sneak in cookies after your mom went to sleep and I would read aloud stories from those stupid children’s books. You know, the ones about the turtle and the toad?”

The redhead looking down at me lets out a loud, happy laugh. It makes me smile all the more, even as my cheeks begin to hurt and my jaw grows sore. “Of course I remember, you idiot."

With a short sigh, Misaki throws himself backwards so we are laying side by side. His head turns and our eyes meet. “You know,” he laughs, “I once told Totsuka-san about that.”

Hold on. You actually talked about me with other people? I never had the audacity. I worked tirelessly to erase you from my daily thoughts; I did everything I could to try and forget each and every detail about you. I even tried to forget your name. It was simply too painful to remember.

He continues, “One year for Christmas, that bastard left a giant stocking on my bed. Inside of it, get this, he had wrapped each of the books and had somehow managed to shove all of them inside.” Trailing off, a pained expression passes across his face, causing him to turn his face up and stare at the ceiling. “I wish you could have met him. You would’ve liked him.”

“I think so too,” I reply. “It’s a shame I couldn’t meet him.” Considering the lengths he took for you, it seems like he had been a genuinely kind individual. And that is a true rarity in this world, particularly in men.

“Yeah, but let’s not talk about that. It’s uh, tough for me."

I know and I’m sorry for that. I should have been there for you. My hand moves, gently, reaching out and quickly ruffling the hair atop his head. Huh. It feels nice. It feels a bit softer than last I remember.

“Stop that!” He pushes my hand away, embarrassed.

Chuckling, I pull my arm back. Dumbass.

There is only a moment’s silence before he says, “Hey Saru, do you wanna go downstairs and play some video games? Even as kids you were better than anyone I played with. I’m still waiting to regain my top spot.”

Seriously? That’s what you want to do with our last few hours? “Have you not played any video games since then?”

“No,” he says, a smile in his voice, “I have; but no one has beaten me since you."

Let’s stop with this line of conversation. Now. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. There are so many of these little moments, moments that you seem to remember every detail of, and yet are just part of an endless black void in my remembrances. The feeling settling in my stomach is both strange and disagreeable. I want to remember, but what’s the point in wishing to remember something you would be better off erasing from your mind for good? Why do memories have to be so painful?

Clearing my throat, I roll up and stand, eyes dragging to the far wall. I can’t look at you right now. “Come on then. Let’s get going so I can kick your ass once again. Heh. You know this isn’t even a contest.” A dark chuckle pops out of my mouth as Misaki blubbers out an indignant cry. It is time for a final hurrah. Let’s make it a good one.

~

3 hours and 49.9 minutes after the initial challenge and here we are, me victorious for the 10th consecutive time, despite being packed full of shit food and drinks. I glance at Misaki, who is leaning back on his hands, eyes closed, head tossed back on a groan. “Seriously?  _ Fuck _ . You haven’t touched a video game in how long again? This is completely unfair, you bastard.”

“Aww, you poor thing,” I sneer at him. “Have I hurt your precious pride?” His leg pulls back and kicks outwards, the heel digging into my calf. “Um.  _ Ow _ .”

“Prick.”

Despite the word choice, I can hear the laughter in his voice. My hand snakes out to grab another chip from the bowl and pop it into my mouth to chew over the idea tumbling around in my head. Taking a few more chips, I lean in his direction. With your eyes closed like that you are total vulnerable, Misa-chan. You should be careful with that. Mean spirited, I know, but sometimes, one must do what is requested of them. And this is clearly an invitation. Crumbling the chips slightly in my palm, I reach over, leaning on one arm so I can shove the chips at his partially open lips.

He splutters. “Fuck! You bastard!” He swats at my hand as he spits, the crumbs coating the front of his shirt while I burst into laughter.

A hand snaps out and pushes me off balance. "You are so easy to goade," I chortle as I fall backwards.

He rolls over onto his knees and slams his hands down on either side of my head, his face leaning over mine, the strands of bright auburn hair curling around his face. My stomach feels like it’s twisting, squirming. It’s a strange feeling, but not unpleasant. Having someone lean over me is a anxiety inducing endeavor...usually. This is different, though. This is Misaki. His look is angry, and yet there is a clear underlying tinge of a smile that reaches his eyes in a way that I do not see in others.

This. If I am to remember anything, this is it. I want to run my fingers over all the planes of your face and run my fingers through that fiery hair. I want to imprint it--all of it--in my brain. I do not want to remember and yet I want to carve every detail into my brain. That way, when my Master’s face rises above me, I’ll have something else to visualize, something for me to focus on and take my mind away from the torment and those manic grey eyes.

“You just don’t know when to stop do you?” Despite the whining tone in his voice, his lips are curling up at the corners.

My mouth feels dry and my fingertips twitch with the desire to reach upwards. Nonetheless, I force myself to remain immobile and leer up at him instead. "I do know. I just choose not to.”

His face twists in a frown whilst his cheeks flush a pleasant rosy color. Are you  _ embarrassed _ ? T he chuckle in my chest turns into a bout of laughter. I really don't have any idea why I have been laughing so damn much today. It is incredibly unlike me--I am not exactly what people would call jovial; nevertheless, it  _ is _ kind of a nice feeling.

Scowling, Misaki mutters “Asshole” before moving to pull back. Without a thought, my hands react of their own accord, snaking around his limbs and gripping onto his forearms. Hold on here. What the  _hell_  am I doing?

It appears Misaki has had the same thought because the once narrow eyes are now wide, his breath escaping his lips in a hard stutter. His tongue flicks nervously around the edges of his lips, a movement that briefly catches my attention, but not enough to hold it. Instead, my eyes snap back up to meet his gaze. My hands spasm once again. What would happen? What would happen, Saruhiko? Who would know? Just one...just one k--

‘Click, click, jingle.’ The sound is deafening. ‘Beep, beep, beep.’ Someone is opening the door. Holy fucking hell! My companion falls backwards without any resistance from my end--I’m too busy scrambling as far away from the door to the room as possible. Who is it this time?

“Oh come on now,” I hear the first voice float in, but it’s too quiet, too indistinct. Who. Is. It.

“No, I’m completely serious. You can’t tell me you weren’t thinking it?”

The ambiguity begins to fade as the door snaps closed and the locks click back into place. They’re coming in here, aren’t they?  _ No. Go away. _ I can’t trust you. Not  _ any  _ of you. Three boys enter into the room all at once. The first of the three looks around and says, the tone vaguely disgusted, "Geez, you two. Why the hell are there chip crumbs all over the place? How long have you been in here? There has to be close to a dozen cans in here. And it smells. Yata, when was the last time you took a shower? Seriously. Three days? A week?”

“Oh, ha ha. Yeah, we uh, we’ve been binging for the past few hours. Kind of, uh, lost track of the time, you know?”

Out of the corner of my eye I can see Misaki’s hand reaching up and scratching the back of his head. I do not have the time to concern myself with his abashment. There are two far more important things to concern myself with: one man I tried to kill and another who I am positive wants to kill me. I press my back against the far wall, putting as much distance between us as is humanly possible. Is there anything I can even use as a weapon in here? I guess I could use one of the game remotes. I’ve worked with worse.

Everyone seems to decide at the exact same moment that now is the time to look at me. My teeth grind together in a concerted effort not to let my eyes get distracted and move away from the two men who are my immediate concern. The bandage around your throat cannot fully hide the dark purple and black hands imprinted into your flesh. I did that.  _ I  _ did that. Not Nagare.  _ Me. _ What kind of beast could do such a thing? I am an absolutely abominable human being.  _ Fucking repulsive piece of shit _ . You deserve everything you get, Saruhiko. Everything. The evidence is all too clear to see.

“Fushimi? Are you alright?” The soothing calm of Akagi’s voice slips through my head, but I refuse to look at him.

“Piss off!” I snarl at him.

Misaki barks out, “Oi! Saruhiko!” I want to respond to him. I really do. The words just won’t come. He continues, softer this time, “It’s okay.” Again, what is it with you and your trust in these people? You’re fucking insane.

Chitose and Dewa haven’t moved. Chitose is chewing the unlit cigarette in his mouth with a disgruntled frown. You do realize that you’ll ruin it if you continue to chew on it like that, right? Despite my expectations, it isn’t Chitose who speaks. "Fushimi?” Dewa begins.

What?! You can talk?! The volume of his voice may have been low, but the words themselves were certainly clear. My eyes hone in on Dewa’s face which is posed in an unusually compassionate frown. What the hell is that look for? And where the hell is your hat?

Sighing, Dewa drops down to the floor, pulling his knees up so he can rest his elbows on them. “Fuck, I’m tired,” he groans. That firm, yet concerned gaze does not waver. “Fushimi, listen. Just chill out for a minute, yeah? I know this isn’t necessarily your fault. When we were fighting and I pinned you down…” he trails off, biting his bottom lip. “I know you don’t want to talk to me. Honestly, I don’t give a damn if you do or not.”

“So what  _ do  _ you want then?”

“Nothing, I just want to clear the air. Akagi came to the hospital and talked to us.”

Hold on.  _ What? _ You are fucking joking. My glare swings to the other boy, the heat of my gaze hopefully boring a hole in that thick fucking skull of his. He holds up his hands in a gesture of placation. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to discuss your personal matters with them, but there really wasn’t any other choice. Chitose was about ready to storm in here and rip your throat out. His words, not mine. It was the only way to get them to understand.”

“F--”

“Don’t blame him,” Dewa murmurs while rubbing at his weary eyes. “I figured it out on my own. The inflammation wasn't down enough yet for me to tell him that though."

Dear fucking Christ! A solitary hand creeps up my chest bone and towards my throat. Each finger trembles of its own accord. I did that to you. I have been trying so hard not to think about it, but the evidence is truly irrefutable. I am no better a man than Nagare.

“Don’t look so horrified, man. I’m too tired to deal with that shit.” He lets out a long breath. “When I pinned you down, you screamed.” And what does that have to do with anything? “It was fucking awful.” A single hand continues rubbing at his eyes, the look in them haunted and miserable. This is not exactly what I was expecting to happen the next time we saw each other. In fact, this at the bottom of my list of expected outcomes. “When that happened," he continues, "I was too startled to do anything and I completely lost control of the situation.”

Dropping his head sideways onto one arm, he lets another long breath seep out. In a near whisper he adds, "I’ve only ever heard one person make that sound before, and let me be perfectly clear, it is not an experience I’m too keen on sharing with you. I’ve already had enough therapy as it is, so don't bother asking." As if I would ask. That's not to say that I'm not curious. But actually asking you personal questions is far beyond the scope of my curiosity parameters.

"H owever, it would be really helpful if you could maybe help out a bit here? If you could just stop being such an insufferable prick all the time? I don’t care if we are friends or not. But you purposely trying to piss me off needs to stop. I don’t want to fight you. And I don't want to hear you cry again.”

Stop making me sound so pathetic you damn ingrate. And why are you being so compassionate about all of this? Regardless of what you have gone through, your forgiveness is not something myself--or anyone else that I know--would have been able to give if the positions were reversed. That being said, perhaps I should be a bit more grateful that you are kind enough to keep your bodyguard back there in check so he doesn't try to shove his fist down my throat and suffocate me. For once, Saruhiko, just this once, can’t you actually show some semblance of gratitude? Don’t you think that he deserves at least that?

Ugh. Fine. 

“I’m sorry.”

“What?” His eyes snap into focus, as does everyone else’s.

Jesus. Don’t look so damn shocked.

“I’m not going to say it again,” I snarl.

A short snort coughs out of his chest. “Heh, fair enough." He doesn't allow the words to hang in the air, instead he pushes on with a final question, "So do we understand each other?”

“Yes. Perfectly.”

“Good.” He stumbles to a stand, Chitose’s hands snapping out to catch him and help him up into a standing position. “I’ll see you around Fushimi. Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” I quietly respond.

Chitose tosses a heated glare over his shoulder at me whilst escorting Dewa out. Dewa may have forgiven me, but Chitose certainly hasn’t. Does his forgiveness really matter though? No. Not really. However, it does mean that he is far less trustworthy than the others in the house. Once the two boys have disappeared from the doorway, my eyes pop over to look at Akagi. You are next on my list of complaints. If you were going to spill all my secrets, couldn’t you have at least explained it a bit better? Pushing off of the wall, I get up to my feet. Akagi’s eyes follow me, a self-deprecating grin spreading on his face. He cuts me off before I even get the opportunity to speak. "It really wasn’t my intention to tell anyone. After what happened though--”

I sigh, my lips pursed thinly in annoyed acceptance. “I know why you did it. It was the right decision.”

Misaki shows up at my side and clasps me on the shoulder. “First an apology and now this? Look at you, admitting someone else is right.”

I don’t know whether or not to be offended. “Now who’s the asshole?”

"Still you. Definitely still you."

I swat the back of his head, him laughing all the while.

“Hey guys?”

Misaki stops laughing and the both of us look over at our companion. Misaki is the one to ask, "What is it?”

Akagi’s face twists, his nose scrunching up. “Do you smell that?”

“Smell what?”

“Damn it. Is Chitose trying to cook again?" Akagi heads out the door and down the hall towards the kitchen. “Chitose! What the hell are you making now? Please tell me you aren't trying to use the stove again!”

“What is he talking about?” Misaki looks confused and I can’t blame him. I have no idea what the fuck Akagi is blathering on about.

We head out into the hallway and he pauses. “Now that I’m out here," he mutters, "I can smell it too. But is that really coming from the kitchen?"

Everything goes dark. What. The fuck.

Misaki calls out, “Oi! Shouhei! What the hell man?” I hear Misaki stumble down the hall and towards the kitchen.

“I don’t know! I can’t see for shit in here. We need to figure out where the smell is coming from though. No one is in the kitchen."

A loud crash pulls my attention away. What in the _hell_ is going on here? Wait, wait. No, scratch that. I know what's going on here...

There is a blinding flash and a ‘Snap!’ Fire bursts down the hallway in a singular rush, licking up walls, and catching hold of the few picture frames on the walls. The fire is followed by a rush of smoke, causing me to cough. For Christ's sake! _T_ _ his _ was your grand master plan?! Ishi you fucking shithole! You said a ‘distraction’. You said rig the system to ‘open the doors’. Am I deaf? Did I misunderstand your wording? This will potentially burn the whole fucking house down!

The light from the fires are shielded by the rising smoke, so I fumble along the wall and to the staircase, running as quickly as I can up the stairs in the dark, not pausing on the second landing where I hear Chitose and Dewa stumbling around and yelling at each other. Reaching the final landing, I dash into the bedroom to grab hold of the duffle bag. Blind, nearing disorientation, I make my way back down the stairs. There are noises on the second landing against the right hand side, so I flatten myself against the left hand wall and slide my way to the next flight of stair and down to the ground floor.

Although the smoke is dissipating, the small fires are also dying down, meaning that the darkness is just as enveloping as before, only colder. I can hear Akagi and Misaki still shouting away at one another--one fucking around with a flashlight, another clearly mishandling the fire extinguisher. I pause. Misaki will be okay. He and Akagi have the situation under control.

Come on, Saruhiko. Nagare is waiting. Move. You need to move. NOW! Legs like lead, heart skipping around my ribcage and bashing against the walls like a hammer; despite this, I still manage to force one foot towards the door. And then another. And another. Why aren’t you moving faster?! SARUHIKO!  _ Move your fucking ass _ _! _

I scramble with the chain links on the door, my fingertips numb, my hands trembling. Open.  _ Open _ damn it! The automatic door locks are disabled--this I know. The handle clicks. Air rushes in, bringing the cool chill of the night with it. It is so beautiful. The moon. The stars. The fresh air, tainted or not. I step into the outside world, perhaps for the last time.

The wind whips around my face, tapping my glasses and wrapping my hair around my face, almost like a pair of hands, covering my eyes to shield me and keep me hidden. Despite it's most valiant effort, the world cannot hide me for long. When I open my eyes, I see a sole figure standing on the far corner of the street opposite me; dressed in a pair of sweats and a dark hoodie that shields his face, the tall boy nods his head once to indicate that he has seen me. He turns to the right and heads down the nearest side street where I know a car is definitely waiting.

I do not bother looking up as I head in that direction. I cannot delay anymore. I know there is someone watching from the rooftops. Ishi never directly said as much--the strong implications were more than enough though. You attempted to have me sniped once before, and now it is a security measure to ensure my loyalty. If I hesitate or if I take too long, I will be shot down and left to die. With that in mind, I start walking.

“Saru?!  _ Saruhiko _ ! You bastard!”

Every muscle in my body freezes, including the ones in my chest. “Stop, Misaki.”

“What the hell?! What the  _ fuck _ do you think you’re doing?” I can hear his heavy breathing behind me, panting from the run.

“Don’t do this,” I whisper. The blood in my ears is pounding. “Turn around, Misaki. Go back into the house and don’t look back."

“Why the hell would you say that? Oi! I’m talking to you! Turn around and look at me! Look at me and say it again."

“I can’t,” I whisper. Don’t tell me to look at you. I need to keep moving or I’ll never find the momentum again.

One long shiver runs down along my spine. I can feel him moving in close to me. Clenching my teeth, I take a few more steps, which is swiftly recovered as he rushes forward. What are you doing?! Two strong, calloused hands flash in the corners of my eyes, and a body collides with mine. Misa-chan? "W-what are you doing?”

“You can’t do this, Saruhiko. You can’t go back to that bastard! I won’t let you!”

“Misa-chan, I have to do this. I don’t have a choice.” With each word, my head grows ever cloudier. A snake-like vice wraps around my chest, tightening bit by bit until I can barely breathe.

“You do!” he screams into my back. “You do,” he repeats, quieter. “Going back to him won’t help anything.”

“You only say that because you don’t know him,” I whisper. “If you knew him, you wouldn’t ask me to stay.”

“And if you knew Mikoto-san and Reisi the way I do, you would trust them to keep you safe.”

“I trust  _ you _ , Misa-chan.” But I cannot trust them. Please don’t ask me to do the impossible. Please.

“Then trust me. Let me protect you. Let  _ us _ protect you.”

“I’m sorry.” You don’t understand, Misa-chan. It’s too late. Despite my words, the arms do not loosen, instead they squeeze me even tighter. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Misa-chan. I can't allow that to happen. I won't." The words are coming out more and more haltingly. I have to get out of here. I have to leave. _Now_. “Let go, Misaki.”

I can almost hear his heart breaking; his whole body is starting to shake and a strangled cry stifles itself against my shirt. “P-please,” the word chokes out as a sob. “Please don’t leave.” The tears, wet and chill, seep into my shirt and dampen two small spots on my back. “Y-you can’t leave me again.  _ Please _ . Not again.”

Don’t do this. Misa-chan, please let go. I don’t know when they started, but here they are nevertheless. My own tears slither down my cheeks, dripping off my chin. Between tightly pressed lips, I whisper, “I don’t want to go. But he’ll kill you. I c-” I stumble and can’t continue. Salt drips into my mouth, forcing me to lick away the tears and snot starting to coat my upper lip. “Please, Misa-chan.” I have to go.

Instead of relaxing, his hands tighten even further, enforcing their firm grip around my chest. “No, I won’t do it. Saruhiko, if it means keeping you here, even for a litte while, I’d give my life.”

NO! Don’t say that! The tears are choking, blinding, all-consuming. “Just shut up, Misa-chan,” I manage to squeeze out. It hurts. The muscles in my chest are so tight, pounding, pulsing. This is a type of agony I have never experienced. I thought I had experienced the worst types of pain possible to feel. But I was wrong.

Once I walk away it will be over. You will have come and gone from my life for but a flicker of a moment. When all's said and done, will I have to forget you? Forget that you ever existed? Will I forget the feel of these hands around my chest or the musk of your sweaty body filling my senses? Will I remember the sound of your voice or the sight of your vibrant eyes? Or will I myself have to forcibly erase these memories, if only to drown out the regret that I could not have more? 

The thought makes me want to die.

My body heaves with its tears, beginning to shake from their endlessness. Misa-chan, I don’t want to live without you, but staying with you means betraying Nagare, and that is something he will  _ never _ tolerate. He will kill the both of us without the slightest hesitation. The marksmen watching us right now is just waiting for the right moment. The second I head back towards the house, he will put a bullet through my head and yours. You are making yourself a liability if you keep me here. I know this. The gunman knows this. Surely you must too?

And yet... _and yet_...

If I stay right here, right in this spot, if I neither leave nor stay, he won’t have to kill you. If I stay right here and force his hand, he will shot me down, but you might still live. And If I cannot walk away, if I cannot live without you, but I cannot stay, then that is the only option left. Besides...

I have lived through this hell long enough. I am ready to die.

Am I selfish, Misa-chan? Am I as horrible a person as I believe? I would rather force Nagare’s hand and die right this moment than continue this pathetic farce of a life knowing I am either risking your life or destroying my own. This is my chance to finally obtain the death I’ve always longed for. I am only sorry that you must watch me die.

The clock is ticking, Saruhiko. Your time is almost out.

"Let me turn around."

His grip loosens, but only just enough for me to turn around within the confines of his arms. I look down at him through the stream of water seeping out of me. If you are going to have me shot down Nagare, at least allow me this final moment.

“Misa-chan,” I whisper, lifting my hands and grabbing hold of the only thing I can--his face. Teary and wide-eyed, Misaki looks up at me confused, angry, and frightened; so many negative emotions all clumped together. Don’t be scared, Misa-chan. It’ll all be over soon. "You’ll be okay," I smile down at him. "I promise.”

My eyes scour over his face--the bridge of nose, the curve of his lips, the flush of his cheeks, and the curl of his hair. You really are beautiful, in a way that I never could be. I just wish we had more time. It’s not fair. It’s not. Fucking. Fair! What the  _ fuck _ did I do to deserve this? Why are all of your answers nothing more than simple, empty silence? I continue to ask the same questions, over and over and over. And yet nothing ever changes. For  once in my life, can’t I have something that  _ I  _ want? Can’t you allow me some semblance of happiness? Of freedom? Just  _ once? _

“Saruhiko?"

It’s okay, Misa-chan. Everything will be alright. If I am going to die, then let us end this with something pleasant. There are so many unfilled desires in my short life; nevertheless, of every experience of normalcy I have missed out on, there is only one I want to experience before I die. Just one simple thing I’ve always wanted to do without consequence at least once.

I do not take a moment’s breath. I bend my neck down and lean in, closing my eyes as my lips press down against his. The skin is soft, but jagged, the tissue ripped by the constant tugging of his teeth. It’s so... _ warm _ . A gasp opens his lips, his breath tasting of potato chips and cola. His hands fall down and away from my back before  snaking between my arms and crawling up and around the back of my head. The fingers curl into the strands of my hair, pulling me in as his lips open further, and his tongue traces the inside of mouth.  _ Fuck _ . His small frame, muscular yet lithe, presses in tight against mine. The feeling of it makes me shudder. Never has such a powerful person, so audacious and impetuous, fit against my body without the baleful and menacing presence of a killer. It's amazing.

For once, I’m not scared. My chest feels light, the chains squeezing my lungs growing brittle and cracked. How wonderful a feeling. The weight lifting from my shoulders makes everything seem just that much more vibrant. This feeling.  _ This  _ is what freedom feels like.

A hard jolt rams into my back, causing my body to jerk. What was tha--My ears start to ring. Argh! Pain rams into me, spreading out from the contact point and swiftly swimming throughout my bloodstream. The soft feel of Misaki's cheeks is fading as my lips cave to the agony and my jaw clenches tight.

Against my lips Misaki murmurs, "What’s wrong?”

My breath stutters as fire spreads to each limb and every extremity. When my eyes pop open, it is to a blurry vision of Misaki’s horrified expression. “W-what is this? Why are you bleeding? S-saruhiko?”

Nothing is under my control. My legs give out beneath me, Misaki clumsily catching me along the way. I wish I could feel your arms around me. I wish I could still see your eyes. Everything is growing so dark, punctured only by flashes of white light, bursting across my vision in tandem.

“Saruhiko! SARU! No, no, no, no!! Come on! Stay with me!  _ Saru _ ?” The last word comes out as a whimper.

My lips crack open in some semblance of a smile as I try to murmur, “Don’t cry, Misa-chan. I’m not leaving. See? Everything will be alright.” I attempt to say these words, but I doubt my throat made even a single sound. There is no air in me left to give. The agony has already come and gone.

I’m so happy, Misa-chan. So happy. The pain is over. And the lights have gone out.


End file.
